All That Glitters
by An Cathal Toirmisce
Summary: :AU: Here is magic to behold: all that glitters can be Gold. Ed/Lu, Rump/Belle
1. Chapter One

**A/N: Whoa, there. Hi! Yes, it finally happened. I crossed-over the magic of Narnia with the magic of Once Upon a Time. Should be magical, no? Anyway. So, this story will not be too terribly complicated and it's not going to change most things from canon. Think of it like an episode from earlier on in the first season. For now. If this one hits the ground running and people like it, I have an idea for a sequel that's more of the complicated junk I normally write. **

**This story is AU, and even though one of the main parings is Edmund/Lucy there is no incest in this story. I have manipulated things to make them unrelated, yo. The other pairing will be Rumpelstiltskin/Belle. **

**The fairytales the Fairytale World is telling is Rapunzel and Snow Queen. Sorry to the producers if, in season 2, they come up with one for it. I had no way to know. **

**And, unlike my last few stories, this one is not finished. Why? Well, I'm impatient. But, I do know exactly what will happen with detailed outlines. No fear! **

* * *

_All That Glitters_

_By An Cathal Toirmisce _

_Here is magic to behold; all that glitters can be Gold. _

* * *

They called Herr Pevensie a great many things. Mad. Queer. Strange. Odd. Yet, he had something that no one else could compare to, he had the most beautiful wife anyone could ever dream of. The most beautiful woman in Queen Regina's kingdom, he saw it. And she was his prize.

It had taken him a long time to convince her father to give her, his finest boar, a small fortune, and half the rapunzel from his garden. Still, after all his treasures, the man had still said no. But, it was worth it, the girl was his, after their family house had burnt to the ground.

Of course, business transactions were always a bit queer, for his wife and her family spoke with a heavy accent, with a native language he was not brave enough to venture to learn.

On the first day he led her home, into their new house. A handsome shack with splintery floorboards and dust gathering in the corners. "Here we are," Pevensie said, "Home. I know it's not that pretty, but it should look like a damn palace when you're done."

Here, he handed her a boom made of sticks and brambles on the end of a metal rod.

"Vhat?" She asked. "Ah-h, I…I no understand. Vhat do you vant me to do?"

Pevensie smiled at his darling wife, and put his hand over her heart. "I do love you, dear. Your naïveté is awfully refreshing. Clean our home, and I will set out in my garden."

"_Garten_?" His wife said, putting the impossible broom down. "Vhat? Myen Vater…he zaid you vere a carpenter. Vhy did you lie?"

"I never lied!" Pevensie said, twitching his left hand. "I told the truth. I am a carpenter. A carpenter of my kingdom, full of flowers."

"Vhat?" She took a step back. "You…you are…you are mad."

"Perhaps," Pevensie said evenly. "But, I am yours."

Joy Pevensie was a tall, beautiful woman. She had long white-blond hair and a complexion that held not one trace of a freckle, blemish, or scar. Her eyes shimmered blue and her nose crinkled when she laughed. Her husband believed himself to be the luckiest man alive when she wed him, for he was a short man with wiry brown hair the colour of dirt and a lanky appearance that prevented him from any sort of respectable trade.

Pevensie was never entirely certain of where the money came to their box, but there was nearly always a handsome amount, enough for him to spend his days lazing in the garden, fussing over his rapunzel plants and rose bushes. He would spend days and days in his garden, singing little songs to himself and fussing over the dirt.

Then, the day came that Joy called him in for supper. A rare occasion indeed, for she knew how it troubled him to be troubled with food when he had a plant to worry about. But, Joy was insistent, as she announced.

"A-hh," she said that night through her heavy-laid accent from the western kingdoms. "Myen hezbend. Dez…dez is a gut day. Zoon…very zoon, ve shall 'ave a baby."

At first, Pevensie thought there was reason for happiness—for celebration. But then, as the months passed, their little cottage began to dwindle. Cobwebs appeared in the corners, dust and sand was no longer kept off the porch, the tablecloths were no longer bleached. It might have driven Pevensie to madness, if not for the next thing that nearly did it for him.

His wife, Joy Pevensie, was dying. Her pregnancy had been difficult since the beginning, but now there seemed to be no getting better. She did not sleep, she did not eat, she did nothing but sit and stare at the ceiling, every time the baby kicked, it was as though the parasite inside of her was killing her by the way she wailed; it was enough to drive anyone to madness. Her husband was no exception whatsoever. He already hated the babe, certain it was no child of his, but some kind of changeling that had wormed its way into his Joy's womb. He had never even laid eyes on the gorgon, but he already knew his feelings for it; the hatred that would swell every time he looked at the bulging belly of his pale wife and how she cried out in pain for water. Water would only make the mold grow, of course, so naturally her husband could never give her that, and he would pat her on the head and pray that she would live through it.

However, the longer and longer the pregnancy lasted, the more apparent it became that she would not. It drove her husband even farther over the edge, even farther in desperation, and yes, even far enough to seek out the help of Rumpelstiltskin.

Pevensie had sought out Rumpelstiltskin in near the old ruins of Joy's family home, a large stack of bricks left over from the chimney.

He stood there, bearing a heavy stick for protection, and called out, "Rumpelstiltskin! Rumpelstiltskin!"

After a whole day and a whole night of this, his hopes were still not dashed, and he continued all throughout the day, and finally, just before dusk, his patience was rewarded.

"I must say, you are nothing if not persistent," a spindly voice called from behind in a mocking singsong voice.

Pevensie turned and saw the slimy and gray face of the most powerful being of the world, Rumpelstiltskin.

"Can you do anything?" Pevensie asked without preamble.

The gray man allowed his brows to rise. "Why, yes I can. But, it will cost you."

Pevensie nodded. "My wife," he said. "She is with-child, but it is a terrible demon of a babe. A gorgon! A harpy! Something despicable enough to destroy my wife from the inside out. Can you save her?"

"Not sure." Rumpelstiltskin shrugged, smirking. "How do you know the child is…evil?"

"She has grown so large around the middle, and so weak. She can hardly get out of bed for her fevers."

"I see." Rumpelstiltskin considered, the wheels deep inside his skull beginning to turn.

The deal had only taken moments to strike up. The price, it had been easy enough; Pevensie's wife's life, for that demon of a baby.

If you would ask Pevensie, he would tell you that he had the better end of the bargain.

If you were to ask Rumpelstiltskin, he would tell you that it was himself.

The baby stayed with her mother for two months. Joy hadn't had the slightest clue of why her husband had suddenly abandoned her, or that in a matter of weeks, she would no longer see her baby anymore.

She would sing to the baby, low mournful lullabies, and take care of the child without getting up from bed, for the tonic rendered by Rumpelstiltskin had left her bedridden.

Rocking the baby back and forth, singing in her native tongue. _"Sleep, Luzi, sleep. Across the heavens move the sheep. The little stars are lambs in distress. But the moon is its shepherdess. Sleep, my Luzi, sleep." _

It was rather obvious that the baby was not a Lilith or a Jezebel or any of the other things that Pevensie expected her to be. The baby was simply an ordinary, albeit small, infant. A little baby girl with large curious eyes and wailing cries when she was uncomfortable and happy gurgles when she was content. She was simply Lucy—or Luzi as her mother had called her before Rumpelstiltskin took her away.

That day, that day would go down in history as the signally most painful day of Joy Pevensie's life. A tall, spindly man came in and took the baby from her cot, with so few words to the mother. He simply informed her he had struck up a deal and that, now, it would be fulfilled. Soon, he also said, her husband would return to her, and they would have their life as it was before the baby had come through into their lives.

"Vhat? Vhy?" Joy demanded. "Vhy are you ztealing my baby from me?"

"The answer is simple, _dearie_." Rumpelstiltskin said, "All magic comes with a price."

"Vhat?" Joy cried. "Vhat magic? Dis does not make sense."

"Simple," He repeated. "Your precious husband cares for you so much that he noticed the…parasite.

Rumpelstiltskin shrugged and turned about, cradling the baby, who was presently sleeping soundly, in his arms.

Just like that, Joy's little Luzi, was gone forever to the Dark One.

XxxxxxX

Although Rumpelstiltskin had not had his own son at a particularly young age, he was certainly too old to care for a newborn, so he believed and consistently grumbled to himself when the baby had woken him up for the umpteenth time in their first evening together.

"What do you want, Lucy?" He muttered, entering her nursery, eyeing the infant wailing her head off in her own cot. "Bae was never this fussy."

Considering the child, he snapped his fingers, and the wailings ceased. A moment more, and the babe stopped her crying all together, and simply stared up at him with curious eyes.

Then, much to his surprise, she smiled. And then laughed. The baby was happy to see him, the Dark One, the coward who had left his promise to his son. She would grow up to be a strange one, he realised, that was for certain.

The baby was adorable, even Rumpelstiltskin had to contest to that. It was almost nauseating, but it would take him a while to be used to the idea of taking care of a child. Of having a family again.

He never wanted to replace Baelfire, but he wanted another try, perhaps, a chance that he wouldn't betray a second child. And, of course, a second child might help him discover Bae, with proof he had changed: a family. She could show him where a child could go, once they reached that world without magic. When he could find his son in that other world, and when he saw that the power no longer mattered, that he was no longer a coward, that he had a family, and that he could have the chance to apologise.

Nonetheless, no matter what the exact reason was that he decided to take in the infant, she did have a way of growing on him, like vines on a wall, even when he didn't want her to.

He could never be called a doting father, but he certainly made certain that she had a wardrobe full of silks and furs and many things to busy her time with without interrupting him or getting in his way. He ensured her happiness. But, all the same, she was not Bae. Every time he seemed to lean towards affection for his daughter, he would find a horrible feeling creeping in his stomach. A second betrayal out of his good intentions.

It was so strange how, with Lucy in the house, so much had changed and yet stayed the same. The long stone corridors were still drafty and dusty, most of the curtains remained drawn, and there was always traces of dirt or sand on the floor. Neither of them minded, the house was kept clean enough to live in. At the same time, it was strange.

He had almost forgotten how quickly children grow, and all too soon she was learning her alphabet, tying her own sashes and braiding her own hair—no magic required. She was a boisterous and curious young girl, he thought, far too much of it for her own good. Climbing out onto the terrace and sliding down the railings of the stairs and diving down the laundry shoot. This young girl had a head for adventure, he realised, in a way that Bae never did. He did not want to think of such things, but he couldn't help but wonder what she would have thought of the cowardly monster he had been prior to Bae's departure.

She was three the first time that she sat in as he spun, humming a tune and working on the alphabet on a horning book.

"Don't you have something better to do, Lucy?" He asked, somewhat irritably.

"Not really," She said after a moment of thinking. A beat more and she said, "No…I like this just fine."

Rumpelstiltskin gave a single noncommittal noise and focused in on his spinning.

This became a commonplace thing, Lucy watching him spin. She would either busy herself in the common hall or off in the library with her head in the clouds. It seemed to be her favourite pastimes, the two of those things, although she had no head for spinning herself.

She would never ask of her true mother and father, and said nothing to suggest she had the foggiest inkling she wasn't born in that castle. However, the crux of the matter still stood. She wasn't a stupid girl by any means, surely she must have known,

Of course, there was her secret passion. Up in a high tower, she would watch the outside world from a high window, the whole of Queen Regina's kingdom as it spun about without her, for she was forbidden to step outside.

One day when Lucy was ten, while Rumpelstiltskin was busying himself spinning, she came up to his right arm and pulled a stool beside him, and began to pick dirt and impurities from the straw. "Papa," she said after a moment, "Why can't I ever go outside?"

"Why would you want to go outside? You'll get terribly sunburned with your complexion." Rumpelstiltskin said, without missing a beat.

Lucy chortled back a laugh. "No. Really."

"I have my reasons."

At that time, the answer was enough for Lucy. It was the same every time. She did not need to ask questions, she already knew, for the answer would always the same.

"_Papa, why do you leave for so long?" _

"_I have my reasons." _

"_Oh, Papa, I know you did it. Why did you steal from the fairies?" _

"_I have my reasons." _

The young girl watched her father's spindly gray fingers dart all around the wheel, as it ticked on and on, a never-ending sphere of gold, like the modest circlet of a duchess.

"Papa," she said again after a beat more. "Even though I'm not allowed to step outdoors, sometimes I still hear the gardener's conversations. They say…they say that you're…wicked."

"With spinners and slanderers, I'm the lesser of the two evils."

She didn't listen. "According to Herr Martin, the head gardener, they work from fear. Fear of the wicked Rumpelstiltskin." Lucy's eyes were wide and innocent, the words rolled off her tongue with a delicate timbre. She spoke as though she did not wish to believe it, but was compelled to all the same. Compelled by a simple gardener.

Halting the wheel, Rumpelstiltskin looked over to the young child. "Do you think I'm wicked?"

The girl paused, considering. At last she said, "I don't know. Not to me, you aren't. You make sure I'm fed, and give me what I need and what I desire. You do keep me caged in this castle, but that's not exactly wicked. You're still my father—and you care for me and I care for you. But I hear people talking sometimes. They say things. Stories. They say that you turn men into beetles and stomp them down as though that was all they ever were. They say that you give people anything they desire, but for a price that makes them regret."

"All magic comes with a price, Lucy. I expect you to understand that."

"I do," the girl insisted. "But, how can you do those things? All those horrible things?"

This time, to her shock, Rumpelstiltskin gave a new answer. It was so alien, bumping about in her ears, shocking her to the core.

"I made a deal."

Lucy blinked and slowly nodded, beginning to understand. Her father always honored his deals. "You'd do anything to honor a deal, wouldn't you?"

"I think you know me well enough to figure the answer."

Holding her breath, Lucy began to say, "So, maybe, I could go out and get straw for you, or something. We could make a dea—"

"No." Rumpelstiltskin stood up abruptly from his stool. "You will not make a deal with me…or anyone. You must promise that you will not make deals with anyone—including me. They can cock up your life." He smirked, and finished, "And you'll be crowing like a rooster."

"I think I could be brave enough." Lucy reasoned.

"Still. This whole world is consumed with deals and magical ways out. It's all pure evil. A fairy's blessing is really a curse, Lucy, in the heart of a coward."

"But I'm not a coward."

Nevertheless, the young girl's protests fell upon deaf ears, for Rumpelstiltskin grew very thoughtful and returned to his spinning.


	2. Chapter Two

**A/N: And so we jump into Storybrooke…if you want to be lazy and not figure out who the Narnian characters are for yourself, go to the bottom of the window, I've included a small list. **

* * *

Her name was Roslyn Gold. Her father called her Rose, and her tutors called her Roslyn. It would be impossible to tell you what her friends called her, as she had none. This isn't to say that she was cruel or ill mannered or anything of the sort, for she was quite the opposite; quiet, curious, and kind.

The only logical explanation for Roslyn's lack of friends would be her father. It does not seem fair that people should flock away from a young girl simply because her father (and not even her biological father, at that) was the wealthiest and most hated person in Storybrooke, but it was the reality of Roslyn's life.

Of course, she did not quite understand how others hated her father so much. As far as she could see, he was a good man. A bit rough around the edges, but a good man. He was always nice to her, albeit a bit sarcastic. From the ways she saw her father, he should be loved, not hated.

But, that was before the night before. She had been flabbergasted when she picked up the telephone and heard her father on the other end calling from prison.

"What?" She had said, nearly dropping the phone and only half-awake. "Dad, you're _where_?"

"Rose," He said, his voice distorted by the phone lines. "Just come down to the sheriff's office, bring a checkbook, and pay the bail."

"What…why are you…why are you in prison?"

"I need you to focus, Rose." Gold said testily.

Huffing slightly, Rose said, "Okay. I just don't know how to get to the sheriff's office from home."

"There's a map sitting on my desk."

Rose nodded even though he couldn't' see her. "All right," she said. Then she paused. "Dad…what did you even do?"

"Aggravated assault, if you must know. Just, come and bail me out. I'll start working on my negotiations in the meantime."

With this, he hung up. And from that moment on, Rose was fairly angry with him. It wasn't all that shocking, exactly. Anyone could reasonably be upset it their father got arrested for hitting someone with his walking stick. The only thing was that he was not used to his daughter being angry with him. Or anyone, really.

It took a lot to make Rose angry, Gold knew. She was the type of girl who could forgive anything or anyone at the drop of a hat. In fact, even after everything he had said and all the suppertimes and birthdays and Christmases he had missed, his adoptee had always been willing to forgive him in an instant, but that night, she was picking at her supper plate and not looking up.

"Rose," he said, perhaps in attempt to speak to her about this, but then thought better of it. "Clean up when you're done."

Leaning on his cane, Gold began to limp out of the room.

"Dad!" Rose called out as he reached the door. "How could you do it?"

Without turning around, Gold shifted his cane between his hands. "He was a thief."

"You hit him with your cane!"

"They dropped the charges, Rose. I suggest you drop the subject."

"Will you hit me with your cane?"

"I had to take matters into my own hands. I got what I needed, and now we are going to move on."

"But, Dad…"

"No. We're done here, Roslyn."

By the time he turned back around, Rose had disappeared, and he limped out of the room.

He had adopted Rose so long ago, but he remembered his reasons, and the deal that made her his daughter. Of course, that was in another world.

Of course, Roslyn Joy Gold was more than he bargained for. Yet, the curse had tempered her somewhat, and she wasn't nearly as difficult as before. Still, she had a streak in her, something that threatened to leave him alone. Everyone had left him, Bae and Belle and even Rose, back in another life, when she was Lucy.

He would not apologise. He had only done what he could. Moe French had stolen the cup. The only thing he had left of love, and Moe had taken it. It made sense, and he had done what he could. Rose wouldn't understand, she was too compassionate for her own good, but she didn't have to. She just had to trust him. She had no reason to, but she had to, didn't she? He was her father. Of course, perhaps Karma might have it out for him. A daughter to leave him in payment for the son her left behind. But, he would calm himself, that was bound to change. Soon, after all, the savior was there.

He was almost asleep that evening, looking over an old book, when he saw Rose again as she barreled through the front door, in basketball shorts and a sweaty cropped shirt.

"Where have you been?" He asked, turning the page.

Panting and grinning, Rose replied, "Where else? Running."

"Where?"

"Don't worry, I stuck to the outskirts of town," she shook her head, and mumbled under her breath, "God forbid I run in town for a change."

Sending a look to his daughter, Gold shooed her off. She had almost left the sitting room before he said, "Rose?"

Turning around, the teenager lowered her brow. "What?"

Sighing, Gold shook his head, "Thank you."

Surprised, Rose sat down on a mahogany armchair. "What's the occasion?"

"It was miserably lonely in prison," Gold said, standing. "It was almost like having you there."

Understanding the sarcasm, Lucy furrowed her brows. "No, Dad, seriously."

"You paid the bail." Gold said, smirking at the memory of Sheriff Swan's baffled face when the skinny girl with the check had presented herself as Mr. Gold's daughter.

She paused. "You're welcome. Say, Dad…do you suppose that I might be able to go into town tomorrow. I could collect rent or something, just while you get the legal things worked out.'

"You know the rules, Rose," Gold shook his head.

Chewing her lip, Rose said, "I know; I just fancied that it might be an exception."

"When have you ever known there to be any exception to my rules?"

Rose just smiled at him. "Only once."

"And when was that?"

Looking pensive, Rose shrugged. "You let me come into town today."

Chortling, Gold said, "I'm not sure that counts."

"You could have gotten the Professor or Mr. Faunus to get it. Or you could've done it yourself. But you asked me. In some sort of warped way," she sighed, "It counted."

XxxxxxX

Martin really needed to expand his circle of friends, he thought as he slumped in his seat in the diner, pushing his sunglasses up his nose and listening to his friend Johnny make crude comments regarding their waitress.

"You better knock it off," His sister, Ann, said, "Granny's going to murder you if she hears."

"Oh, I'm so frightened!" Johnny mocked. "Come off it, Ann. Don't you think that Ruby's looking for a little extra attention? And, when you look as good as that, it's bound to attract attention."

"You're a pig." Ann said scornfully.

Johnny laughed. "Yeah, but somebody's got to be."

Martin suddenly felt a small bit of weight on his thigh, and moved his hand to pat Fenris on the head, the shaggy fur around the dog was a little fluffy, and he prayed that Ann hadn't lied to him when she told him he looked a bit like a wolf and nothing at all like a Pekinese, which Martin had once worried about, upon realizing how soft his companion was.

Johnny rustled the newspaper. "Oh, hey!" He suddenly said, his voice full of surprise. "Look at this, then."

"What is it?" Martin said, sitting up.

Ann's voice sounded next. "Oh, how awful!"

Johnny: "I know; I always knew Gold was barmy. But are you surprised?"

"No, not really. But…oh, poor Mr. French!"

Johnny turned to Martin. "What do you think?" he asked without thinking.

"I think it sounds like a newspaper. But I guess you're all referring to what's _on _the newspaper."

He could almost hear the blush in Johnny's voice. "Right. Sorry, mate."

Ann explained from there: "According to the paper, Mr. Gold took Mr. French—you know him, don't you? —out to his cabin a few nights ago and beat him with his cane. They say it's because Mr. French stole some things from Gold's house…and that his daughter Roslyn bailed him out of prison."

"I've seen Roslyn once, you know." Johnny said. "She didn't look snobby or anything, but for some reason I expected her to be prettier. Strange enough, right? Considering what her father looks like…Martin, you were there with me that day, right? What did you—oh, right. Sorry."

If there was one thing Martin could never figure out, it was how his friends and family always forgot about it. He didn't even know how it was possible; he never forgot, acquaintances never forgot. Just his friends and his family, of course, when it was at the most inappropriate moments.

Like, last month, a few days before his birthday, when his dad came up to him. "So, Marty, what do you want to do for your birthday? Go see a movie?"

"Dad, are you serious?"

"Right."

Or when his sister called to him the other evening. "Martin," she whispered excitedly. "There's a faun in our backyard. Come over here and see."

"Sure, Ann," he had responded. "Let me grab Fenris and he can _describe _the damn deer to me. Good idea!"

Of course, there was that time that he had failed French class, and his mother had called him to the living room, smacking down his progress report on the table. "Martin Douglas, can you explain _this_?"

By that point, he had snapped. He stood up from the sofa, and threw his arms down.

"No! No, I can't! God, what is _with _you people? I'm _blind!" _

And he had stormed out of the room. But, the good news is that he didn't get in trouble. Ever since the accident, he never got in trouble. He could push buttons or do whatever he wanted without any repercussion.

Honestly, he hated it.

Fenris whined slightly, and began to paw at the bright tile of Granny's.

Standing up, Martin murmured something about letting Fenris out to relieve himself. He couldn't remember when he had gotten injured, but he knew that it hadn't always been like this. He remembered colours and he remembered seeing. Yet, he couldn't remember when it had been replaced with the black. He didn't remember ever learning how to read braille, he just had always been able to do it; and he didn't remember getting Fenris as his eyes, the wolflike helper had just always been there.

Maybe that was why his family could never seem to remember. It didn't make sense. He didn't remember getting sick, according to Dr. Whale, he had fallen. But, he never could remember the accident itself.

Walking forward a few more metres when Fenris began to pull him over to the side where the alleyway would be. He stood and waited, leaning against the brick wall, until the dog licked his hand a few times to indicate that he was done.

"Ready to head home, Fenris?" He asked, and tightened his grip on his dog's harness, beginning the trek back to his house.

They walked through the forest; it was a bit of a shortcut. Martin wasn't sure if it was exactly shorter, but it was far less crowded than the streets of Storybrooke. If nothing else, at least, he wouldn't have that horrible feeling in the pit of his stomach that people were staring at him.

It was kind of funny, although he did not realise this. Before the accident, he would have given anything to be noticed. Now he just wanted to blend in as much as possible.

* * *

**Here are the Storybrooke names for a few Narnian characters. **  
**Roslyn = Lucy**  
**Martin = Edmund**  
**Ann = Susan **  
**Fenris = Maugrim**


	3. Chapter Three

**A/N: This chapter contains a fairly crass double entendre. I'm sorry. I couldn't resist. **

Lucy never considered herself a naughty girl, per say. Actually, she thought she was a rather good daughter when one got right down to it. She tried to do as she was told (provided a mouse wouldn't scurry by her path leaving her hopelessly distracted), and she tried to obey all the rules Rumpelstiltskin had laid out for her. She never made deals, she moved herself far away from the main corridors whenever Queen Regina dropped in, and always made sure there was something for supper—even when her father wasn't home.

But, in one area, she was disobedient. She would not yield for this one thing. Her freedom.

She had first snuck out of the castle when she just turned twelve. Honestly, she hadn't even meant to. Having finished her few measly chores for the day, she had decided to open a window for a spot of fresh air and sunlight. After spending a few good minutes taking in it all, she noticed a beautiful sprig of rampion growing out on the terrace. Then, from either some sort of magical intervention or simply young foolishness, she reached far out onto the terrace to grab the beautiful flowering plant.

Perhaps because she was simply clumsy, or perhaps again, because of that queer magical intervention, she came tumbling out of the window, screaming as she fell into the bushes just underneath that second floor window.

At this point, she let her curiosity get the best of her and set off to explore the grounds. In fact, she had such a grand time staring at the hedges and trees, and feeling the grass and dirt under her bare feet, that she decided that she would quite like to escape the confinement of the castle again. Perhaps several times more; she did not see how one could possibly tire of fresh air and sunlight.

After examining the terraces and footholds in the walls of the castle, Lucy quickly found that she could easily slip in and out of the castle unnoticed. Quite easily, actually; in fact, she fancied that she could do it with a basket under her arm in a rainstorm.

She quickly decided she would make a habit of slipping in and out of the castle. As long as she never let anyone know, it did not seem dangerous. What was breaking one rule out of hundreds? She would have this one secret, this one rebellion in her whole life. If she could just explain it, she was sure that Papa would see her point, and perhaps even understand.

Just a few moments to taste fresh air every week. That would be it. Yes, she did feel a little guilty, but something in her gut told her that she was _supposed_ to break this rule. Call it what you will, fate, destiny, a childish dream of grandeur, but this was her decision.

Besides, climbing in and out of her home would possibly be one of the easiest things she had ever attempted in her life before that point. As long as she didn't look down.

XxxxxX

As far as Edmund could tell, the most important of his senses was sight. Sight allowed him to look around, see his surroundings and strategize accordingly. Not that he ever had much to strategize. But, someday he would. Someday he'd be a knight. And no one would just brush him off because of his lineage. After all, no one chooses their own father.

There was a reason his father could only get a job trimming the hedges for Rumpelstiltskin of all people. His father had amounted to nothing more than a bad reputation and a fat stomach from too much liquor. But that hardly mattered to Edmund. He knew how everything was going to go. He would be a knight someday, and not just any knight. He would command a regiment at least. He'd matter.

And he'd owe that worth to his eyesight. Whenever he stepped into a room, he'd let his eyes flit around, and he'd develop ideas of what he would do in several random scenarios. He always had a plan.

Except for when it came to her.

He did not know her, nor very much about her. He knew she was Rumpelstiltskin's daughter, he knew she spent most of her time in the library (for he saw her from the window), but little else other than that. But, something happened to him when he looked at her. He couldn't bring himself to believe that she was really Rumpelstiltskin's daughter. She looked too…good. She didn't seem as though she could be the progeny of someone as evil as Rumpelstiltskin.

But, he could never think about it for too long. There were too many hypothetical and imaginary plans to make. Too many adventures to go on in his head, the sort of things he would imagine happen when one becomes a knight.

He was only just thinking about this, one dreadfully rummy morning, while he was staring up into the gray sky, and praying it wouldn't rain. Then, he heard it.

Her voice.

Directed at _him_?

He spun around wildly. There, walking right past him, so close he could…oh, he didn't even know. She was smiling at him. His jaw dropped. And then she said the most beautiful word he had ever heard:

"Hullo."

_Hello! _

Then, she just walked right on by, along the dirt-paved road with a basket in her hands.

He couldn't believe it. She had said "Hullo." Hullo means hello and hello means, well, hello! It means…greetings! Salutations! It means, I know who you are and I wish to acknowledge your presence. In fact, I salute you!

He watched the girl disappear down the path, contemplating _hello _and all its countless wonders when a gruff chortle, almost a growl, sounded behind him.

He spun again and found himself face-to-face with the most enormous gray wolf anyone had ever seen.

Now, normally, most people might be afraid if they were less than a meter away from such a creature, but Edmund simply rolled his eyes.

"Don't sneak up on me like that, Maugrim."

The wolf shook his head. "Oh, calm down, Ed. You really shouldn't drool though. Girls don't like it."

"What would you know?"

"Well," Maugrim said, shooting him a grin, flashing his white canines benignly. "Bitches do love me."

Edmund cocked a brow and muttered dryly, "Nice double entendre."

"I try."

The two began walking side-by-side in through the wooded area near Rumpelstiltskin's castle, and into a tiny lean-to cabin. It had a thatched roof that had been patched over so many times it resembled more of a quilt than anything else, and whitewashed walls so overgrown with ivy that it was nearly impossible to see.

Marching through the doors, Maugrim made a beeline to the moth-eaten sofa, and promptly collapsed. From the kitchen, Edmund heard his older sister's voice sounded clear and annoyingly motherish, "Rough day?"

"You have no idea." Maugrim sighed, stretching out his back in a rather doggish way.

"What did you do?" Susan, the owner of the voice, came out from the doorway, stirring a bowl of something for supper.

Maugrim rolled over on his back, letting his paws dangle in the air. "I went into the village."

"And?" Susan egged expectantly.

"That's it."

Susan glared and sighed. "Oh, my brothers."

"Oi!" Edmund said, from his new station on the windowsill. "Don't mix me in with _him_!"

"Sorry, Ed," Susan muttered, waving it away, as though she didn't really mean it.

While it was rather easy for Edmund to blame Susan, to be fair, he had to try to see it from her perspective. She was always the mother-figure of their sorry excuse for a family, and she was the only one who was remotely normal. With their father's drinking, Maugrim's curse, and Edmund's rebellious habits, Susan was the only one without quirk or curse. She had almost had the opportunity to be rid of her family, the year before. She had been betrothed to a lord from a neighboring kingdom. He had been a lazy, self-pleasing, luxurious tyrant if Edmund had anything to say about it. But, Susan had almost accepted his offer and married him, leaving her old life behind. But then Peter, a boy from the nearby village, had confessed to her brothers that he secretly fancied Susan. Almost immediately after he had done so, Maugrim had gone and done the only half-decent thing he had done since he sprouted paws and fangs: he told her. And Susan stayed behind, having always been in love with Peter to begin with.

As far as Edmund and Maugrim could see, it was all too romantic and silly for them to understand.

But, even though he didn't want to admit it, Edmund was beginning to. He was old enough, but he wasn't sure if he even wanted to understand.

Neither their father nor their mother showed up for supper that night, but the three siblings were not fazed in the slightest. They sat down to their dinner, Maugrim rattled off lewd jokes, Susan blushed and tried to be proper about it, and Edmund laughed and egged his brother on. After they ate, Susan disappeared into the village to see Peter, Maugrim told a sketchy lie about howling at the moon and followed suit. This left Edmund alone, in their tiny little home. He went to the wire birdcage in the corner, and stuck some birdseed in to the pigeon.

XxxxxxxX

How could people possibly be so ridiculously _stupid? _Rumplestiltskin asked this question rather frequently to himself. He wasn't some kind of magic wishing well, or a genie that would give anybody free wishes with no strings attached, or worse—a bloody fairy. He was the Dark One and these people might do well to remember it.

Only the remarkably desperate came to him in the first place; but did desperation suddenly give you the intelligence of a worm? Apparently so.

Some spoiled brat of a princess had just promised her hand in marriage to a frog. And now her father was trying to get him—the mighty and powerful Rumpelstiltskin—to fix it. Fix it? The idea was laughable. He didn't fix things for other people. He tended to make it worse. Immediate gratification never works well; and he would always use that to his advantage. Give people what they want in the heat of the moment and take the inevitable long-term consequence as his own prize.

Either way, the fool of a king had nothing interesting for the Dark One. No possible ingredients for a potion to brew, no trinkets that would get him that much closer to his son. Nothing. if there was one thing Rumpelstiltskin did not do, it was settle. All it had done was waste his time—he really ought to be focusing more on Snow White and Prince James and Regina. That was the plan for his curse, after all.

Thus, he had to put the kibosh on the whole thing. And by "kibosh" he meant—well, you don't even want to know.

In his mind's eye, he saw the look on the people's faces. The looks of unnecessary fear smacked across them. Oh, really, what was he going to do? They were of no use to him. Other than, perhaps, a moment's entertainment. Hey, everyone needs a hobby. What would be the point of being able to spread a horrid (and thoroughly cosmetic) pestilence across an entire famine-ravaged country if you don't take a moment and actually _do it_?

Still, he had bigger fish to fry. Lucy was frequently sneaking out more and more. Oh, yes, he had known about her leaving from the beginning. He had no idea what she did while she was out, but he knew she went. It was easy to tell when she wasn't around. He hadn't said anything to her because he had hoped she would simply grow out of it. Besides, it seemed as though she was beginning to feel guilty. He always found new straw by his spinning wheel whenever his daughter would come back. No one knew who she was, as far as he could tell, so his Lucy was safe. Safe from people trying to use her to get magical favours or from people hating her from association. And, and this one was more important to Rumpelstiltskin than it honestly should have been, safe from getting the desire to leave him.

Of course, that's what he told himself? The real reason was, not that he would ever admit it, that he was getting lonely.


	4. Chapter Four

Rose was a runner. She had been her whole life. Gold had no idea what it was that made her so excited by it. But, every day, when he woke up, his daughter would be gone. After about an hour, she would show up, looking quite hellish, in the kitchen and pour herself a glass of orange juice and a bowl of corn flakes. Then, once she sat down at the table, just like every day, she would strike up conversation. As usual. It was the bland, boring, banal lives of the Golds.

Except, not that day. Gold couldn't help but notice exactly how quiet Rose was being that morning; she looked down at her bowl as she ate ceaselessly.

Drumming his fingers on the table, he reached for his large mug full of steaming tea. "Did you go running yet?"

Rose shook her head, "No, not yet. I woke up to, but I didn't feel up to it. I was up late last night, picking you up and all."

"Oh."

"Kind of funny though," She mused, "The one time I've been allowed into town, and it was to pay the bail for my father."

"We're not talking about this—"

"Really? Well, that's shocking. Considering we never talk about _anything._"

Gold stiffened and rolled his eyes. "That's because you're far too keen on knowing everyone else's business."

Rose pressed her lips together in frustration. "I can't see how that's true. Considering the fact that I don't know anyone. You keep me locked up like—like the china in the cabinet!"

Snorting, Gold shook his head. "I doubt that's really a fair comparison."

"Of course not." Rose retorted, looking back into her cereal bowl. "You wouldn't care even half as much if I disappeared. I matter less to you than the little chipped cup and you know it."

Hurt, Gold stared in disbelief at the girl across the table. "That's not true, Rose."

Shooting daggers for eyes at her father, Rose pressed her lips together, but said nothing. Her look spoke enough for her. She didn't believe him in the slightest.

The dining room fell silent. They could hear the Grandfather clock ticking away in the hall. Rose's spoon hit the bottom of her cereal bowl with a shockingly loud clash and she stood to take care of it. Just before she left the room, however, she turned back towards the table.

"I didn't mean anything by that, Dad." She said softly. "Really."

Gold nodded abruptly and took a rather large gulp of the tea. He thought that, perhaps, he should say something. But what? Suddenly he felt as though there was a gap between him and his daughter that was too far to breach. And he had no idea as to how it got there. It had never been that difficult to talk to Bae. And, hell, it hadn't even been that difficult to talk to Lucy. And, after all, Rose _was _Lucy. Had all those years in Storybrooke really distanced him that far from his daughter? Had he chosen one child for another? Or, had she grown that way before the curse had even set in? His memory of it was muggy, and almost half blind.

Half _blind_?

Was that it?

Of course not. Rose didn't even know him here.

And if he had anything to say about it, she never would.

XxxxxxX

When Martin woke up on an irritatingly rainy and thundering morning, he could instantly feel Fenris by his side. The hound tended to sleep on his bed anyhow, but it was nice to have something familiar within his grasp within seconds of waking.

He did not open his eyes for several minutes. Not that there was a point to it anyway, other than simply staying awake. Technically he could spend an entire day with his eyes closed and do everything as he normally did. But, at least for a few minutes, he could pretend to be normal. He could pretend that he would open his eyes and be able to look out his window and see Storybrooke around him; that he could go down to breakfast and not have to count that his father hadn't gotten drunk the night before and messed up the order of cereals or things in the fridge.

It would have been nice, had he never been in the accident. He would have been able to see things, to look at the sky and remember exactly what blue was.

Thunder crashed a second time. Fenris growled.

Groaning, Martin snapped his eyes open to total darkness as he kicked his sheets off the bed.

"All right, boy. Let's go see if we can trip over Dad this morning."

Surely enough, as Martin stood up and tiptoed towards the stairs, so as not to wake Ann or Mum, he soon found himself tripping over something meaty and rubbery. He jumped back.

"Sorry, Dad!"

His father was not amused. His voice shot daggers as he sat up and leaned on the railings, "Dammit, Martin. What'd we even buy that dog for? Wasn't it to stop you from doing this –"

Thunder crashed in the sky with rather expert timing.

"Well, here's the thing," Martin rolled his eyes and began to march down the stairs. "It doesn't work when he's not harnessed up."

XxxxxxX

Every Thursday, Rose would spend her morning with her favourite tutor, Mr. Faunus. A scruffy, bow-legged man who, somehow, reminded her of something wonderful and forgotten. He was the one who suggested she begin running to get away from the house for an hour or two a day. He always had a bright scarf and a rather posh hat tipped forward on his head. But, more than anything, he was a grand friend.

However, that day, there was something wrong. At least, something other than the weather, as rain pounded from the sky and thunder shook the trees outlining the edge of the town.

When Rose opened the door, Mr. Faunus was rocking on his heels, and fussing with the boxes in his hands, holding an umbrella high above his head. "Good morning, Roslyn."

Rose lowered her brow. He was cheerful, as normal, but there was something different in him. Something foggy and off.

"Good morning, Mr. Faunus."

They began their tutoring session; it was slower than most days. When Rose went to turn in a geography test, it was as though Mr. Faunus had gone to sleep with his eyes open.

"Mr. Faunus?" Rose lowered her brow. "Mr. Faunus?"

The electricity suddenly powered off. Rose blinked several times. The house looked different. However, she didn't have time to focus in on this. Mr. Faunus was on the floor, bawling over the stairs. Rushing to his side, she called out to him, "Mr. Faunus? Are you all right?"

"Oh, I've been such a bad Faun." He shook his head madly. "Would you believe that I'm the sort of Faun who would meet an innocent child, who had never done me any harm, pretend to be friendly with it, all for the sake of lulling it to sleep and handing it in to—"

"What are you talking about, Mr. Faunus?"

The man did not even seem to hear her. He kept on bawling and talking about things that she hardly understood. She kept on calling out his name, and trying to relate to him. Nothing prevailed.

Running through the house, she skidded across the polished floor, and dialed the hospital.

"Hello? Hello!" She cried out. "This is Roslyn Gold. Mr. Faunus is hysterical…yes, Jack Faunus. Yes. Please! Send someone over. Yes, I can't reason with him. Thank you!"

There was an annoying buzzing in her ear, like a mosquito. Swatting at it, Rose quickly dialed a second number. Someone who could help her out, or at least shed some light on the subject. He always seemed to know what was going on when things went rummy. She dialed the number of her father's shop.

XxxxxxxX

If there was one thing for certain, pending charges for aggravated assault was definitely bad for business. Apparently beating a so-called "harmless" man with your cane meant that your antiques are no good. Or at least that's what the people of Storybrooke believed. Bastards, the lot of them.

Not that Gold really needed the money or anything. Still, it did his shriveled heart good to see people spending their money on his merchandise. Especially considering they always simply skimmed over anything remotely useful, and only ever bought the junk. Regardless.

It should blow over soon. He could get the charges removed fairly quickly. All he had to do was stop by and have a little chat with Regina.

And not that he ever particularly catered to any customers he had. He mostly spent his time doing the same thing, whether customers were in his shop or not. That was, polishing and dusting and other menial tasks like that. It was a good thing that he was a patient man, or he might have gone mental a long time ago.

Without warning, his internal monologue was disrupted as the phone began to ring on the back wall. Shuffling over on his good leg, he lifted the receiver to his ear. "Hello?"

"Dad?" Rose's voice came frantically from the other end.

Suddenly alert, Gold grabbed his cane and lifted himself onto his feet. "Rose? What's wrong?"

"I—I don't know." Her voice faltered as though she was running. "Mr. Faunus just suddenly went hysterical. He was on the floor and crying and—and he went on about how awful he is and what he's done…"

Rose continued to blabber on, but Gold tuned her out. What? How could that happen? It could be that—no, it couldn't. It was just the way the curse sometimes reflected the past through her hallucinations. Nothing more and nothing less.

Oh, living hell.

"Okay, Rose," Gold cut her off. "Call the hospital."

"But, Dad—"

"Calm down, let the doctor do what he thinks he knows how to do."

"Dad—"

Rolling his eyes, Gold shook his head and looked back to the records of his sales. "I have work to do, Rose."

"But, Dr. Whale's already here and he said—"

"Then do what he says. You're not listening to—"

"No, _you're _not listening." Rose suddenly spat.

"Fair enough." Gold muttered, hearing his daughter's enraged breathing. "All right, Rose. What's going on?"

"We were working on, oh, I think geography. I turned in my test and he just started…hyperventilating and collapsed on the floor. I called Dr. Whale. But…by then he was fine. And Mr. Faunus said that…that he had been fine all the time. And then Dr. Whale started questioning me. They're talking out in the hall. Something just_ feels_ wrong."

Gold's face fell. "What kind of things?"

"If I see things I don't want to tell you about…how often I leave the house…Dad, I'm not crazy."

"I know." Gold murmured. "Ask them to leave; I'll talk to you when I get home."

"Dad, I don't know…"

"Rose, just do it."

"Please! _Papa_, please."

Gold froze. When he was able to muster up any sound from his vocal chords, he muttered, "I have to go."

With this, he slammed the phone back into its cradle. She called him Papa. She hadn't called him that in years. Actually, she had stopped even before the curse had cemented. Bae called him Papa until the end. But Lucy—Rose—had slipped into a less endearing name of "Dad."

One thing was for certain. He would never understand his daughter, no matter what world they lived in.

Within the hour, Mr. Faunus came tentatively into the shop, shuffling up to the desk where Gold was busying himself polishing some sort of artifact.

The tutor cleared his throat, and tapped his feet nervously on the floor.

Gold nodded and said, "Yes?"

"It's—it's Roslyn." Faunus piped nervously, wringing his hands.

"What else could it be?" Gold put the artifact down on the table. "I pay you to keep her stable. Obviously you weren't doing your job today."

"Oh, well, I _did _try. She wouldn't take her medicine." Faunus muttered, finding his cuticles absolutely fascinating. "And she only began to hallucinate when the electricity turned off. Perhaps…perhaps…"

"It seems you lost your gumption," Gold cocked his brow. "Go on and say it."

Taking a deep breath, Faunus rushed through his possible diagnosis, "Perhaps it's because of the recent trauma within your household, with your arrest and all. Because her schedule is so limited, the smallest change might completely throw her off."

And this was the best mental health specialist Storybrooke had to offer? Gold could hardly believe that, but had little other options.

"All right, then. What do you suggest?"

"Honestly?" Faunus took a few steps away, as though afraid Gold was about to use his cane again. "Expand her schedule so she has more things to focus on. The more normal her life is, the less prone she'll be to hallucinations. I know you don't want Roslyn enrolled in the school, but perhaps you could have her work in the library, or a younger classroom? I'm a bit of a friend of Mary Margaret Blanchard, I do think she would be willing to let Roslyn come in and help around."

"I'll consider it." Gold frowned, and searched his memory for the time before the hallucinations began, when all was normal. Or, well, as normal as they could be.


	5. Chapter Five

When Maugrim had been a human he had trained a small pigeon to carry brief messages. No one knew who to or for what reason, but it quickly became the easiest form of mail for the family, as long as it was only short messages, for the bird could not fly very well carting large pieces of paper.

Watching the stupid bird bob her head into his hand, Edmund was suddenly wracked with a sudden impulse. He wanted to write a letter. But not just any letter. A letter to the girl who had previously acknowledged his existence.

Of course, he found while he sat at the rickety dining table, this was easier said than done. He had never actually spoken with her. Everything he knew about her, he knew from what other people said. So, he dipped his quill into ink and stared at the parchment.

A large blob of ink splattered down. Growling in frustration, Edmund sighed and began to scratch out letters. Soon, they formed a word.

_Hello. _

So far, so good.

What else? He remembered the other night, when he had been out late with Maugrim, charting a few constellations. Looking upwards, he had seen her sitting in the windowsill. It was as though she was in a private room, just her and the windowpane and the closed curtains around her in the warm light of a swinging lantern over her head. It almost felt wrong to look at her then. But, before he looked away, nearly shamed, he couldn't help but notice that she had an enormous leather-bound book on her lap. She didn't seem like the sort of girl who would read dictionaries so he might as well ask about that.

_I was wondering what_

He began like this, but promptly scratched it out. If there was one thing Susan always forced, it was that pleasantries should always open a letter. So, he began again.

_I hope you're having a nice day. Do you like to read?_

With nothing else to do, he rolled up the parchment, attached it to the pigeon's leg, and sent her off, regretting it immediately.

Thankfully, however, by daybreak the pigeon was back at his window, with a tiny new note around her leg. Untying the letter, he opened it, surprised to find that the reply was written in golden ink and in an odd mix of cursive, calligraphy, and print.

_Hello. My name's Lucy. Yes, I like to read. I've been reading a wonderful story about a knight—_

He flipped the tiny piece of parchment over and saw the rest of the letter.

_And a hill and a sword. I wish I could describe it. You should read it sometime. – L. _

Quickly he responded, saying that perhaps he might, and this was who their long correspondence via Maugrim's pigeon began.

_I was wondering, why did you want to write to me? – L. _

_You seemed so happy reading. I was curious about what it is._

Edmund responded, considering whether it's a good idea to remain ambiguous or not. She knew of his father, and perhaps that was the reason. He didn't want her to stop writing him.

Soon enough, her short response came.

_Oh? So you can see me? You know who I am?_

On the other side of the parchment, she had written and scratched off: _What's your name? _

Edmund's reply was short and to the point: _Yes and yes. _

He couldn't help but smirk while he wrote the next bit: _My name starts with an E. Guess. _

Lucy certainly rose to the occasion, and replied with a random list of names in her next reply.

_Eamon? Eaton? Emmet? Edan? Edgar? Edmund? Edward? Edric? Emrick? Emmanuel? Eryx? –L. _

Edmund couldn't help but laugh, and thus, his penmanship was a bit shaky as he wrote back.

_Wherever did you hear the name Eryx? It was the fifth one you guessed. If you can remember. – E._

To his surprise, she remembered which one she guessed fifth. To his elation, she said that it suited him. To his misery, she instantly knew who he was. He didn't want her to know, at least not yet. He was some drunken gardener's son, and no one would see passed that.

But then, three days later, a raven as black as the night's sky came to his window, holding a larger scroll of parchment. Inside, contained Lucy's mismatched penmanship.

_Edmund. I'm sorry if I offended you. I cannot think of what I've done, but I'm sorry. Is it your name? I like it. Is it that you're the gardener's son? If you loathe gardening you don't have to do it, I shouldn't think. But, either way. I hope you'll write back. I don't have many friends, I think because people are afraid of Papa. You're the first person to begin a conversation with me. Please do. – L. _

The next day, Edmund decided to reply, using the raven, so that his reply could be longer.

_Lucy, it's only that I hoped you wouldn't know. I know how you feel about people not liking you because of your father. _

He paused. Honestly, he hadn't even considered Rumpelstiltskin before. But, suddenly, he was afraid. What if he didn't want some lowly garden-boy sending letters to his daughter? Edmund had heard rumors that he turned people into slugs when they made him cross—and then either stepped on them or poured salt over their bodies, depending on how angry he was. Afraid, he added in:

_Does yours know about the letters? – E. _

Lucy's handwriting was messy in her reply, and in dark ink, a deep red colour.

_No. Would you stop writing to me if he did? _

Worried, he hastily replied.

_I guess it's my turn to apologise. Though I don't know why I made you angry. – E. _

_I would like a friend who's brave enough not to cower away whenever Papa is mentioned. I'm not angry, but slightly disappointed. Be honest, are you afraid of him? – L. _

Edmund sighed, staring over the golden ink.

_Only idiots aren't. – E. _

Lucy's reply came again in that dark ink.

_I'm not. _

He replied the very next day.

_Look, I'm sorry. Let's call it Pax. I won't mention your father ever again if you don't want me to. I don't really expect you to forgive me but—well, I think that you're really—_

Blinking, and sense returning to him, he promptly scratched the sentence off.

_I'd want to be friends. If you'll listen to my excuses. You probably know my brother, Maugrim, was turned into a wolf? Magic makes me a little nervous. Well, unless it can make me taller. _

Cringing slightly, realizing that jests can be misinterpreted in writing, he continued.

_(That was a joke…) Besides, do let's not talk about this. – E. _

And, they did not talk about it any longer. Instead, she asked him questions, and he asked her some. She might have been a bit on the nosy side, but she also proved to be sweet and an excellent companion, and soon, they came to care about one another. This was how, after a year, Edmund had come to fall in love with Rumplestiltskin's daughter without even speaking to her once.

XxxxxxX

When Lucy suggested that she and Edmund should actually meet face-to-face, she hardly realized that she had almost held her breath until she got a reply. They had been corresponding for over a year by that point. There were still several things she wanted to know. How his brother had gotten cursed in the first place was one thing, and another was that she wanted to know what he really thought of her.

Then he said that he'd love to meet her, and made the arrangements. They were to meet by the shrubs behind the castle that afternoon. For whatever reason, she braided her hair into plaits and wore a newer green gown she would have doubted she could have a reason.

As she approached, she quickly noticed that they weren't alone; an enormous gray wolf lazed around in the shade the shrubbery provided. She heard Edmund's voice a second later, and made a mental note to remember the sound. She liked it.

"You know, you _could _find a way to help—" he stopped midsentence, noticing her. "Hullo."

Without realizing what she was doing, Lucy ran her hand to fiddle with a curly bit of fringe that didn't fit into her braid and she found herself gnawing on her lip. "Hi."

The wolf rolled over to his front and stared at them, his yellow eyes quizzical. He barked slightly.

"Oh, right." Edmund said, "Maugrim, this is Lucy…Rumpelstiltskin's daughter."

Maugrim nodded slightly, and Lucy sent him a quick curtsey, and then they stood in somewhat awkward silence.

Then, never being one to stand awkward silence, Maugrim said, "So, Edmund, _this _is the girl we've been hearing about? You want her?"

Edmund stared. He had never once mentioned Lucy to his brother, but something in his face must have given away his feelings for the girl, because Maugrim continued.

"Oh, c'mon, Edmund. We've been through this before; we both know you haven't got it in you to get at her."

At this point, the younger brother began to catch on, and promptly turned red. Lucy furrowed her brows, and after a moment of thought followed suit. They coughed lightly, and Edmund turned towards Lucy, and sent her an apologetic look.

Lucy shrugged, as though to confirm that it was not a very big deal, stepped towards him and whispered in his ear.

"Is he always this…" She paused. "Crude?"

Edmund rolled his eyes. "He's just warming up."

Nodding slightly, Lucy cringed, and then looked him over. Replacing her uncomfortable look with a confused one, she said, "Are you sure you're eighteen?"

Blushing yet again, Edmund stood up a little straighter. "Why? Do I look older?"

Maugrim chortled. "He's seventeen."

"Maugrim," Edmund snapped. "Why don't you go use your tongue to groom yourself?"

"That's insulting!" Maugrim sat up primly. "I'm a Talking Wolf. Not any normal one."

Just rolling his eyes, Edmund decided to ignore his brother from that moment on. Turning to Lucy, he said, realising he had not asked this about her yet, "So, Lu, do you have any siblings?"

With a somewhat panicked look on her face, Lucy chewed on the side of her cheek.

"Well," she said nervously, "That's kind of a long story."

"I've got time," Edmund said, offering his arm to Lucy and walking away from his brother, shooting him a face as they walked away.

XxxxxxX

If you asked Rumpelstiltskin (not that anybody ever does) he might tell you that being a parent is harder than you'd think. Many people might wonder what the hell he would know about such things. But you might be surprised. He raised two children completely on his own, after all.

Granted, one was off in another world and the other was…well, he couldn't always be so sure.

Yes, yes. He ought to be a better parent; everyone's a critic; blah, blah, blah.

But, to even begin to understand that Rumpelstiltskin isn't anything remotely similar to a bad parent, you have to take a walk in his (magical and pointy leather) shoes to understand.

So, say for a moment, that you're Rumpelstiltskin. It's difficult to imagine being quite as amazing as he is, but you must try.

As Rumpelstiltskin, you have raised two children. When they were young, they were both sweet and docile. But then, well, they grew up and into their definite personalities.

The funny thing about children is that they tend to grow up. When they do, they no longer sit beside you while you work, or ask for your company at ill-opportune times. Slowly, as this does not happen overnight, their individual lives start to form. And soon, before they know it and before you're ready, they find their lives incredibly more interesting than yours, and you are alone. And you sit and wait and watch your spinning wheel turn over and over again, and you actually begin to miss the incessant questions and annoyingly cheerful conversation. And then you begin to compare again, even though you swore you never would, the way one child is different from another, and how in what seemed like a lifetime away, another child never would have deserted you. (Oh, the irony.)

When these thoughts creep into your mind, the more you want to focus on your work. That nagging reminder that will bring you to your lost boy once more. So, you take a breath, and think. You think about all the things you have yet to do to make your curse work. You still need a seal. True love would work for that. But that's pretty hard to bottle. And you need a location in that magicless world. And loopholes. Never forget the loopholes. Only idiots do that and you're no idiot. You're the Dark One and don't you ever forget it.

But still, all these thoughts only remind you one thing. That you have enough time to go on inward monologes and tangents like this. You haven't had that chance in almost fifteen years, and while you miss it, it's not the giggle-inducing high that it used to be. In fact, it causes no giggles at all. And you do love to giggle.

Then, the more you focus in on this, the lonelier you get. And the lonelier you get, the more you notice that the entire castle is filthy. The more you notice that the entire castle is filthy the more you realise you do not have the valuable time for cleaning. That time could be better spent doing other things. Like complaining inwardly about how filthy the castle is.

And then, per chance, a king from a neighbouring land calls upon you for some help on a rather devastating ogre problem. At first it's annoying. _Help. We're dying! Save us_. They should know not to piss off an ogre. But, being the understanding Dark One you are, you pay attention and look into it.

Upon a small about of magical research you notice that he has a daughter. A daughter who looks as though she really knows how to dust a candelabra. She seemed like a decent candidate as someone who could do all the less-than-fun chores.

She could serve you your meals, and clean your dark castle, and dust your collections, and launder your and Lucy's clothing, and get fresh straw. And skin the children you hunt for their pelts.

You pause. You giggle.

Oh, you really must remember that one. It's comedy gold.

You decide that you should stop by and help the kingdom.

The place really is filthy, after all.

**A/N: Did last chapter really disinterest you all that much? Please review! Particularly I'm curious about what you all think of the narration style in Rumplestiltskin's part of the chapter. I really enjoyed that. Oh, and does anybody know from what book I based the pigeon-mail off of? **


	6. Chapter Six

Rose stood at the countertop, tossing a salad, and trying to calm her mind. She wasn't entirely sure what had happened earlier that day. Mr. Faunus had just snapped, hadn't he? He had been crying, and he seemed unwell.

To be perfectly honest, she was rather brassed. Why didn't anyone believe her? Not Dr. Whale, not Mr. Faunus, not even her own father. She was certainly not crazy…but, then again, didn't only crazy people say that?

"Don't be silly, Rose." She murmured to herself, picking up the salad bowl. "You know what you saw."

She knew that, occasionally, her daydreams got out of control. But, when they were over, she always knew that it was only a daydream. This was different. It still seemed just as real as she was.

The timer went off in the kitchen, and Rose turned about to get the pizza out of the oven, with a dishcloth in hand.

Why had Mr. Faunus lied about his meltdown to Dr. Whale? Mr. Faunus was her friend; he didn't have a reason in the world to make her doctor doubt her sanity. It all made no sense.

Taking two plates from the pantry and putting a few slices on each, she moved the meal into the dining room, and was just setting the meal down on the table by the time her father came shuffling in.

"Pizza again?"

Arching her eyebrows, Rose sighed. "Well, it's Thursday. We eat together on Thursdays."

Gold shrugged and sat down on his end of the table. "I suppose asking how your day was would be a moot point?"

"So it would seem," Rose's reply came coolly. She took a bite of her pizza, and then said after a beat, "You don't believe me, do you?"

Frowning, Gold sighed. "Rose, there are some things that you just don't understand."

"I'll take that as a no," She muttered under her breath.

Rolling his eyes, Gold said, "Do you know how to get to the school from here?"

"No…how would I?" Rose's eyes darting from side to side.

"Well, then, I'll get you a map so you won't get lost. And directions to my shop; I'll want you to go there after school. It'll be your first day in town, and they don't take very well to strangers."

"Wait, hang on," Rose wrinkled her brow, nearly dropping her glass. "I'm going to school? Y-you actually want me to go _into_ town?"

Gold sighed, slightly irritated. "Didn't I just say that?"

"Well, yes." Rose blushed, seeing the annoyance in her father's bony face. "I just can't believe it."

"Yes, yes, that's all fine." Gold chewed on his cheeks. "Well, you aren't going to school to learn there; you're going to help in the grade school classes. I'll still expect you to take your lessons here."

"Of course!"

"You'd better wake up early for your run tomorrow: Ms. Blanchard is expecting you by eleven."

Rose suddenly lit up like the forth of July. Beaming, she did something rarely ever seen in the Gold household. She flung her arms around her father's shoulders, and gave him a quick hug. Before he could retaliate, push her away, or give her an awkward nudge in the opposite direction, she was gone, trotting up the stairs and into her room.

Moving the pizza slice into his mouth, Gold put his worries of letting her leave his sight away, and tried to focus on the horrible taste of deep fried dough and cheese.

XxxxxX

From the moment she stepped into the classroom, Rose thought Mary Margaret Blanchard was one of the prettiest and sweetest women she had ever seen before. Granted, there was not that much of a contest, but Rose thought that even if there was, Mary Margaret would still be in the top ten.

Rose stepped in the doorway, tugging at the sleeve of her blue sweater, feeling too many pairs of eyes on her. It was somewhat funny, the way she had prepared to work in the fifth grade classroom as though it was her first day of school herself, with her hair half pulled back neatly, and a vintage-looking knee-length dress, thinking of nothing but the excitement of it all. But, upon arriving, she quickly found that it was more unnerving than exciting.

"Everybody," Mary Margaret said, putting a piece of chalk down. "This is Ms. Roslyn. She's here to give your reading and fluency tests."

Rose turned rather red and waved to the chorus of hellos given by the young children in their desks.

The children then opened their desks and pulled out a score of small chapter books. The teacher walked towards the awkward teenager halfway in the hall. Reaching out her hands, Mary Margaret shook Rose's and led her out into the hallway.

Evidentially, Rose was to give each child a piece of paper with a short story or article on it. They were to read it aloud for one minute, and she was to record the time it took the children to read, ask them a few questions, and that was it. If they finished the passage, or got through a certain amount of it, they were to move up to the next level of difficulty.

"Sounds easy enough." Rose said, feeling a fair amount of nervousness leave her.

Mary Margaret nodded, smiling. Then, slowly it faded. "I hope you don't mind that I didn't introduce you with your last name…"

Rose shook her head and shrugged. "It isn't a big deal. I understand."

They nodded together, and smiled, and it was as though, just in that moment, there was an understanding between the two.

Rose was then admitted to leave for lunch, as the children wouldn't be tested until after the midday meal, so it did not make very much sense for her to linger around in the room while she was unneeded.

As she really did not have the slightest idea where a good place to go out for lunch would be, Rose decided to spend her free time wandering the halls of the school, particularly the high school end.

The floors were polished and bright. The halls smelled like textbooks, cheap perfume, floor polish, and ink. As she passed, she would take quick peeks through the windows and see the uniformed children taking notes and passing notes when the teacher's back was turned. It made Rose smile. It was all so simple—so normal, that the fact it was all alien to her should have been alarming, but was like a breath of fresh air. Perhaps it was that this "normal" world existed, that something else existed outside the suffocating perimeters given by her father.

At one point, Rose stopped to take a drink from the fountain. It was cold and metallic. Yet, she couldn't help but almost like it. Again, it was the realness her own life lacked. There was something about this school, something great.

Upon standing upright, Rose went to continue her walk through the hallway, and found herself walking straight into another person. Another person who happened to be tall, with dark hair, and who happened to be wearing sunglasses, even though they were still inside. As Rose gave him the once ove, she found even more surprises. By his side, there was an enormous and terrifying dog, staring her dead with glowing yellow eyes.

"Ugh," The boy said. "Sorry, there. For some reason the mutt isn't feeling up to his job today."

"It's all right." Rose said, reaching down to touch the dog's head.

The animal let off a low growl that immediately caused Rose to retreat.

The boy, however, laughed. "Yeah, he's not the friendliest bloke in the world."

"I can see that," She laughed nervously.

Wrinkling his brow, the boy said, "I don't think I recognize your voice. I thought I knew everybody. But, I guess if you're quiet, it's easy to elude the blind guy."

"Oh. Well, I don't go to this school. I'm home-schooled, but I'm helping out in Ms. Blanchard's classroom."

For some reason, this left the boy smiling. "Didn't know they let random home-schooled students help out in fifth grade classrooms."

Rose shrugged, although she had the feeling that he couldn't tell. "I think my circumstances give me an exception."

The boy nodded, and then said, "I'm Martin, by the way."

"I'm Rose."

In the next few moments that passed, the two just stood there. Rose felt something strange within her from the tips of her toes to the crown of her head. It was a strange warm feeling, just brought on by looking at the blind boy in front of her. But, the strangest thing yet, was the first words that came to mind to describe it. Déjà vu. Talking with this boy she had only just met was eerily familiar. Almost like a dream, or a dream of a dream at the very least.

Martin spoke next. "Well, erm, I should be getting back to class."

"Yeah." Rose said, somewhat sad to see this queer conversation drawing to a close.

Martin turned to go, directing his dog around her, when he turned around again. "Hey, Rose. I'd like to hear about your first day helping with the fifth graders. Do you wanna meet up at the end of the day? Maybe go to Granny's afterward?"

Without warning, it seemed as though the wind was knocked out of her completely. Giving a gasping smile, Rose said, "Yes. I'd like that very much."

With this, they parted ways. But, for the rest of the afternoon, this blind boy stayed in the back of Rose's mind. The boy she had only just met, and had her first date with at the end of the afternoon. The boy who seemed so familiar, even though she could not place it at all.

**A/N: I am so sorry this took me so long! I went on a bit of an impromptu holiday, in addition to house projects, summer school work, miscellaneous projects, and life, I just got super behind! I'm so sorry! And I'm also sorry that I didn't reply to any reviews or messages. Again, blame the impromptu holiday. Anyway, please review on your way out! **


	7. Chapter Seven

Lucy shot into the garden, short of breath, as fast as her legs would carry her. The rain fell slightly, spitting down from the gray clouds high above and the cold spray hit her cheeks.

As she sped around a corner, she slipped on the wet grass, and almost fell head-first in the mud, if not for the strong hand that came out from nowhere wrapping about her wrist and pulling her upwards.

Blinking about, her face lit up in seeing the dark-haired boy in front of her. There was something in his face she just loved, but she couldn't quite place it. Not that it mattered in the slightest. He just made her smile.

"You're a bit clumsy there." He said, smirking. "Perhaps we should buy you a padded hat."

Halfway laughing, she said, "But, Edmund, it won't be as much fun."

Edmund lowered a brow. "Sorry?"

"Maybe I just like it when you catch me."

He winked at her, and pulled her in closer until the tips of their feet were touching. Changing the subject, he said, "You look cold."

Confused, Lucy said, "Maybe a bit."

Without another word, he craned his head down and kissed her softly, lowering his hands to her waist and holding her tight. As she pulled away, he followed her mouth like a magnet.

Lucy laughed into his mouth, and as she felt his fingertips drum on her sides, she broke off the kiss. Resting his forehead against hers, Edmund kept a firm hold of her waist and swayed her from side to side.

"So," he said softly. "What's up? Your last pigeon message didn't give me much to go from."

Beginning to walk around, fingers knitted tightly together, Lucy shrugged. "Papa went away for the day. Said he had a troll problem to take care of."

"So, what's new about that?" Edmund wrinkled his brow. "Rumpelstiltskin is always off doing one creepy thing or another."

Nudging into her beau's shoulder, Lucy shook her head. "It's only that he's been acting strange…well, strang_er_. He tried to bottle something from me the other day, and it didn't work, and he got a little upset. I think it has to do with Baelfire, but I don't know."

Edmund sighed. "I've never really understood that. Why would he jeopardize you just to go on a mad wild goose chase to find the son that _nobody_ knows about that he claims is in another world? You're important too."

Lucy shook her head, "No. It's not that. I'd love to meet Baelfire someday. It's just…I can't even try to understand Papa anymore. "

"Could you ever?"

Nodding, Lucy chortled slightly. "At least I thought I could. But now…I'm not so sure. And I was hoping that we could tell him…" She faded.

"About what?" Edmund wrinkled his brow.

"About us…" Lucy began, only to be promptly stopped by the boy holding her hand.

"What? No!"

"Why not?" Lucy took a step back, "He's my father. And a good one. He's not going to, I don't know, skin you alive. Besides, maybe Papa might know a way to turn Maugrim back into a human. Don't you want to know what he'd be like, as a human?"

"I figure he'd be as much of an ass on two legs as on four."

"No! Seriously," Lucy egged.

"I am serious. Besides, Maugrim is fine. He's healthy, bushy-tailed this time of season, and…" He paused, and looked away from the girl he was with. "And, erm…_moderately _happy."

"Don't you want more than 'moderate' for him? He's your brother." Lucy paused.

"You know my family isn't as obsessed with keeping each other happy. We prefer to look out for ourselves."

Lucy knew this. And she found it remarkably selfish of a rather nice family, although she would never say so.

Edmund paused. "And you don't have to anyone more than they love you. You _can_ leave."

Chewing her lip, Lucy frowned and softly shook her head. "Ed…you know that I won't. I know I can, but I won't. Rumpelstiltskin is my father. Like it or not, he's going to be a part of me."

"I still don't understand why you're so loyal to him. He's never done anything good."

Lucy frowned, in the way she always did when it came to defending her father. "He raised me. He's done well to me. I only know of him what I see. I hear the opposite all the time; I hear that he's evil, but then I see a completely different side to him. What do you _think _I'll believe?"

Edmund groaned. "All right. Call it Pax? I just need to learn to keep my mouth shut when it comes to him."

As always, Lucy smiled, having forgiven him at the mere mention of peace. She nudged him slightly, and said, "Yeah. You really do."

XxxxxX

All right, so _maybe_ stuffing the girl into the dungeon was a bit harsh.

Maybe.

Not really.

She was a servant, not a member of the family. A pretty servant…but aw, hell, what did that matter? Not at all.

It had been, after all, so _deliciously _fun to see the gob smacked look on her face when she realised that "her room," really just meant "dungeon."

But, really, wasn't it all just in the presentation of it? That's all that matters—the way you put things can make a world of difference. After all, saying you have a room is a lot nicer than saying you have a dungeon, just like saying you want to make a deal is a lot nicer than saying you want them to sell their soul to you. Wording is everything. And, thankfully, fluency was a skill that Rumpelstiltskin just happened to be an expert in.

Of course, he couldn't leave Belle in the dungeon forever. There were things that had to be done. Everything from the purely vital chores to the banal and just plain entertaining. He fancied he might remove the spell that kept the rats at bay. It might be fun to watch a princess clean out the traps. None of the dirtier, diseased rats. Just the big black ones that like to scurry by one's feet as they walk by.

Was that a bit too cruel? Of course not! Oh, he thought, suppressing a giggle, this might actually be great fun, having a servant. Maybe it would be a bit like having a maid again, like the old one he used to have back when Bae—anyway, at least this girl knew her master was trouble from the get-go and wouldn't try anything.

Well, Rumplestiltskin thought, it was getting rather close to teatime wasn't it? He ought to fetch the girl now; give her some mild instruction before Lucy showed up. Nothing killed the façade of maniacal, incredible (and not to mention devilishly clever and wonderful) master of the castle like a sickeningly cheerful and kind daughter.

So, he set about doing so, calling Belle back down from the tower and having her set up teatime. He rattled off her duties and what he expected of her. She was always agreeable in a somewhat-frightened way. But, oh, when he gave her the quip of skinning-children's pelts—her reaction was all he could've imagined it to be. Though, she didn't seem to think it quite as funny as he had. Oh, well. Comedy is in the eyes of the beholder, or something like that.

Still, it seemed as though she might be a little high-strung. When she dropped that bloody cup, she looked as though she was petrified. Making little of the chip nervously, as though she expected it to cause some enormous explosion.

What did she think he was going to do? Kill her over it? Rip out her heart and feed it to the rats? Over a cup?

What kind of sick, twisted punishments did they even give people in that old kingdom of hers? If it was anything like what she was making it out to be like, he had damn near saved her hide by taking her.

Of course, with these thoughts, Rumplestiltskin knew the real reason. He wasn't stupid after all. He knew that she was worried that he _would _rip out her heart and feed it to the rats.

Oh, come on; he was a brilliant magical man, not a complete savage.

So, he made light of it.

After all, he didn't want her to be petrified of him. He didn't want to see blind fear _every _time she looked at him. A little fear to prevent her from doing anything stupid was sufficient. Other than that, well, let's not make the future living hell. There had to be something pleasant while he was working on the curse, after all.

While Belle laughed nervously, Rumplestiltskin sat back in his chair. It was quite the interesting turn of events, wasn't it? And it was about to get even more interesting, as there was very promptly a small cough in the doorway.

Lucy looked strangely windblown for someone who wasn't supposed to leave the house. How stupid did she really think he was, if she thought he wasn't going to notice that? However, it was neither the time nor the place to bring that up—perhaps later, or perhaps he might get something out of her secret escapades. Still, the point was that she wasn't even trying to cover up her disobedience. And that was somewhat irritating.

However, completely oblivious to the insult she had just sent him, Lucy walked into the room, eyebrows lifted curiously.

"Erm," she said waveringly. "Who's this?"

Belle seemed rather flabbergasted. Perhaps, she thought that Lucy was another caretaker or something of the like. The girl certainly dressed like it.

Rumplestiltskin decided to be brief in answering his daughter's questions. "A caretaker for the estate. Someone to wash and launder and cook. And to clean up the blood off the floor of the torture chamber."

Belle faltered again, but Lucy just crossed her arms.

"That wasn't funny when you said it the first time." She said, and then turned to Belle kindly. "We don't even have a torture chamber. My father has a…dark sense of humour sometimes; you'll learn to know when he's joking. What's your name?"

Seemingly taken aback, Belle told her, and Lucy followed suit.

Belle frowned and paused for a beat, and then said to Lucy, "You…you're really his daughter?"

Lucy nodded politely, but Rumpelstiltskin decided he wasn't quite finished having his fun yet. Covering the space where his heart should reside momentarily, he choked out, "You mean you don't see the family resemblance? She's got my complexion."

Belle stared on nervously.

"This is another one of his jests." Lucy ticked her head back to the caretaker, she paused and added, "I think."

How wonderful it was to know that humour ran in the family. Even if Lucy wasn't particularly good at it.

**A/N: No idea why, but Belle is really hard to write for tonight. For whatever reason. And thus, we have a really short chapter. Please review on your way out, however. **


	8. Chapter Eight

People may assume that Mr. Gold is not exceedingly fond of exercise, considering that limp of his that made every damned movement difficult. Still, on that day, he had decided to go for a walk around three o'clock.

Yes, he was well aware that he still had criminal charges boiling up against him with the state, but he was obligated to put that on hold for a while. He needed to bribe Regina to help him get out of the charges. And, to do that, he needed to be of service for the mayor. Meaning he had to be able to royally cock-up Emma or Mary Margaret's lives. But the problem was, at least for the moment, everything was silent. There was no possible move, nothing he could do. So, he did the only reasonable thing one could do in that situation. Sit and wait. In the meantime, he would focus on more pressing matters: Rose, her hallucinating, and that boy and his demon dog. This is what led Gold to leave the comfort of his shop to go for a limping, somewhat painful stroll down the sidewalks. (Even if it was deliciously satisfying to see people move away from the sidewalks as they saw him coming, as though it were the parting of the Red Sea.) If anything, to make sure that Rose hadn't met up with any unsavory characters from their previous life.

But, as fate would have it, she seemed to have met them both. Gold had observed it on his walk, as he was across the street from the school as class was let out. A flood of children ran from the doors and into their parents' cars. There, in the midst of it all, Rose was walking next to whatever-his-name-was and that demon dog-brother of his.

Gold inwardly cringed. He had gone through too much trouble to make sure that Rose would never meet them. At first glance it might have seemed cruel, but when had he ever let that stop him? Besides, after the hell the both of them had gone through, it was nothing but justified.

This may have been how he wound up taking a rather lengthy detour around to the sheriff's office.

Upon arriving at the office, Gold limped into the room that had held him prisoner only a few days before. Without looking to see if Emma had looked up from whatever it was she was looking at from her computer monitor.

She hadn't.

So, Gold coughed and began speaking anyway.

"I want to report a dangerous dog."

This caught Emma's attention. Her head snapped up from the computer monitor. "The hell?"

Gold suppressed rolling his eyes. "There's a dangerous dog running around Storybrooke."

"You're in the wrong office," Emma said, standing up from her desk and going over to the other side of the office. "Do I look like the animal shelter?"

The bloody animal shelter wouldn't help him. The dog hadn't hurt anyone yet, and though it certainly would, he couldn't go to them. He needed someone with more ethics—ethics were a great thing to manipulate and work with. Make their ethics fit your means. The animal shelter wouldn't work like that.

"It's your job to keep the people here safe."

Emma narrowed her eyes. "You hit an innocent man with your cane—"

"He wasn't innocent. He was a thief."

"You still assaulted someone. And now you're worried about keeping people safe?"

Gold cringed. "It's my daughter."

"A dog attacked your daughter?"

"It will."

With this, Emma lowered her brows. "What do you mean, it will? It hasn't done anything yet?"

"There are signs, Ms. Swan." Gold leaned on his cane. "Dogs curl their lips when they see someone they don't like—this canine was constantly curled. The tail comes out and becomes bigger. Snarling, barking, growling. All signs this dog has in front of my daughter."

"Does she feel threatened?"

Gold ignored it. And, for whatever reason, decided to appeal to her other nature. "If it was Henry?"

Emma recoiled. A new look flooded her eyes. She sighed. "Look, if the dog hasn't actually attacked her, I can't do anything."

Gold began to tap on his cane. He had no idea what would happen here in Storybrooke—but history did have a way of repeating.

"Look," Emma said, perhaps imagining Henry being mauled by the massive canine. "I can look into it. Is it a stray?"

"No." Gold said, murmuring the answer, knowing how unlikely it sounded. "It's a service dog. Martin Lewis's seeing-eye dog."

XxxxxxxX

It should probably come to no surprise when I tell you that Martin had absolutely no experience with the opposite sex. Particularly in a not-in-my-family and not-my-Braille-teacher sort of way. No, he had no experience in the boyfriend/girlfriend sort of way. Not that he had ever really wanted one before. He figured that if none of the stuffy girls in Storybrooke could see farther than he could; if they all thought that he was worthless just because he was blind, well then they weren't with his time. He had wrestled with that for longer than he could remember, and he didn't need some inbred small-town hussy to pull him down.

But, this, this was different. It seemed as though Rose didn't seem to acknowledge that he was literally wrapped in a world of darkness for the rest of his life. She had talked rapidly while walking through town, not stopping him to check if traffic had cleared (something Ann was guilty of doing on a regular basis—for some reason she didn't seem to trust Fenris to do his job). What was more, Rose let him get the door at Granny's and didn't even try to help him find the handle. She treated him as though he was entirely normal. And that, well, that was abnormal. But, in a good way.

They had filed into Granny's quickly, with Fenris trying to step in front of Rose the whole way, resulting in some rather awkward collisions. As the slipped into a booth by the window, Fenris began to see that his attempts of throwing Rose off were futile and resorted to pouting under the table.

"So," Rose asked at one point, "What do you normally do when school gets out?"

"Um," Martin began, swallowing the last gulp of the soda he had ordered. "I dunno. Normal stuff?"

Rose didn't say anything for a beat. Martin imagined that she probably had a confused look on her face, even though he didn't know for sure what it looked like. Then, she spoke, "And what's that? I'm home-schooled, remember?"

Martin nodded. "I come here with my sister sometimes, then I just take Fenris out for walks. Erm, then I guess I have the option to do homework…even if I rarely do." This earned him a laugh, and he had to suppress his smile at the sound. "Then, well, I guess I read a lot."

"Sorry." Rose said, sounding as though she had just attempted to wolf down a chip of the plates. "Read?"

Martin found himself nodding again. "You know. Braille…little bumps that represent letters?"

Rose paused. Then, tentatively she asked, "Could you show me?"

Feeling himself begin to turn red, Martin began to feel as though Rose was at an unfair advantage. He could not know if she was blushing, too. Even if he hoped she was. Nonetheless, he nodded and dug through his satchel filled with school books. Eventually, he pulled one out. Opening it to the first page, he asked Rose if he could see her hand. It was warm, he remembered, and her fingers were long and soft.

Abruptly pushing these thoughts away, he put Rose's hand on the page next to his, and feeling the bumps behind her hands, he began to read, "_I am old now and have not much to fear from the anger of the gods. I have no husband nor children, nor hardly a friend, though whom they can hurt me. My body, this lean carrion that still has to be washed and fed and have clothes hung about it daily with so many changes, they may kill as soon as they please. The succession is provided for. My crown passes to my nephew_."

He dropped her hand when he heard her laugh. A pretty trickling laugh.

"That's brilliant," she said. She sounded like she was smiling.

Martin snapped the book shut and shoved it back into the satchel. "Well, eh. It makes it easier. The school sometimes thinks I'm a pain since they have to order extra books for me. And I think that's the brilliant part."

Then, as quickly as this nice time had begun, it ended. This time when Rose spoke, she sounded worried.

"Oh," She said. "I'm really very sorry. But I see my dad on the sidewalk. I think he wants me to go to him."

Rather sad about this, Martin nodded nonetheless, and said, "You have to do what you have to do."

He heard Rose stand, and then she spoke again. "How much do I owe you for the food?"

Baffled, Martin shrugged it. He didn't want this girl to think he couldn't afford to eat at a one-star-joint like Granny's. Even if the truth was his allowance barely covered it. "It's fine."

"Well…thank you, Martin." Rose said cheerfully. The sound of a jacket zipper going up whizzed through the air. Then, she spoke again. "Maybe I'll see you in school tomorrow. At least, I hope so. G'bye."

"Wait!" Martin stood up at the booth, hitting his knee on the low table. After inwardly cursing the table, he faced Rose. "D'you think I could…maybe…call you sometime?"

Rose sounded as though she was smiling. "Yes. I really have to go, though. So, I'll give you my number tomorrow at school."

Martin nodded. "All right. It'll give me an excuse to find you again."

Rose laughed again, and she left the café; the only evidence being the small jingling of the bell above their heads.

Sighing, Martin left a small tip on the table for Ruby, and stood up to leave, taking a firm hold of Fenris's harness. He had almost made it out of the café without any repercussions, almost, but then a loud voice snuck up behind him.

"Martin! What was that all about?"

Slightly frightened from the sudden voice, Martin jumped, and with this Fenris let off a quick bark, possibly making others in the café look towards the scene. "Damn it, Johnny! Why do you have to do that?"

"Sorry." Johnny did not sound sorry in the least. "I just want to know what you think you're doing?"

"Erm, walking to the door?"

He could sense the look of derision on Johnny's face. "No. I meant what you were doing eating with her. I mean…where did you even meet her?"

Martin did not understand. What was so odd about Rose? She seemed nice and reasonably normal. "She's helping out Ms. Blanchard in school. I met her in the hall and we went for a snack. What's the big deal?"

"The big deal?" Johnny repeated. "The big deal is that that's bloody Roslyn Gold."

**A/N: Gold starts for whoever knows what book I took a snippet from for Martin reading in Braille. Anyway, please review on your way out. **


	9. Chapter Nine

Well, at least the dark castle wasn't too terribly filthy, Belle tried to reason with herself. It seemed as though neither Rumplestiltskin nor Lucy even knew what a feather duster or a mop was, but it wasn't as bad as she could've imagined.

Actually, she had had no idea what she was getting into when she agreed to be a housekeeper for Rumpelstiltskin. Her imagination could have seen a filthy heap of anything foul, crawling with worms and maggots…but thankfully, that was not the reality. The reality was just very dusty and very dreary. Maybe if Rumpelstiltskin cared to open a window every once in a while, of course, she still was not comfortable enough with life in the castle to consider this as a possibility. Lucy kept her room bright enough, that and the library, even if it all the brighter colours were dulled by inches of dust on every possible surface. Still, there was an air of mystery about the castle hidden in decades worth of dust and cobwebs. Belle considered keeping a list, a list to let her know exactly what queer things she was finding and when. To solve a real mystery, it might just make this adventure a little more…well, adventurous.

She never ended up actually compiling a list, but there were a few things. It was entirely obvious that Rumpelstiltskin had spells and potions to his aid, but perhaps no one else ever saw all the trinkets and vials. Belle herself did not understand any of it, but it was all pretty but almost taboo to look at. Nearly all the mirrors were covered, making the hallways even darker. There was Rumpelstiltskin's apparent hobby of spinning straw into gold; a process that was even more magical than it sounded, though she had not yet had the time to stare. The way the straw was brittle and dull when it entered the wheel, but somehow and somewhere in its cycles around the wheel, it came out beautiful.

Then, there was the extra room. Belle did not quite know what to make of it, but it was strange by itself. It was a bedchamber. From the size of things, and the subject of books in a corner, it was a reasonable assumption that it would be for a child. At first, Belle found herself thinking that it was simply a second room for Lucy. Rumpelstiltskin did not seem like the sort who would spoil a daughter, and Lucy certainly didn't seem spoiled, but it didn't seem like that much of a stretch. That is, until she opened the wardrobe. At first, he eyes were more directed to the swarm of mothballs that fell and bounced off the floor. Then, however, as she raised her eyes, she noticed that the clothes were for a boy. This surprised her. Could Rumpelstiltskin have _another _child? Frankly it was hard enough to believe that he was a father to even one child, much less another.

Curiosity caused her to wonder why, she wanted to ask Rumpelstiltskin, but at the same time, she wasn't sure.

"What're you doing in here?"

Belle spun around to find herself face-to-face with Lucy, standing in the doorway with a dark lantern in her hand and a green cloak tied around her neck.

"Oh, am I not supposed to be?" Belle asked.

Lucy shrugged. "I'm not sure. It's just that we don't really come here. It's kind of a touchy subject for Papa."

"What subject's that?"

Beginning to chew on the inside of her cheek, Lucy sighed. "I'm sworn to secrecy, I'm afraid. I'd hate to go back on a promise twice…ask _him. _When he trusts you, he'll tell you."

"Twice?" Belle asked, quickly looking the girl over. "Hang on, where are you going?"

"What?"

"You look like you're about to go out."

All the colour drained from Lucy's cheeks. "You won't tell Papa will you?"

Belle shook her head.

"All right." With this, Lucy grinned. She entered the chamber and sat down on the bedspread, a cloud of dust building around her hips. "I've been leaving the castle for a few years now, and I once got this messenger pigeon from the gardener's boy, Edmund. We just started exchanging letters, and then we decided to meet, and then…well, I guess the best way to summarise it would be to say we fell in love. But, I have the feeling he hates Papa—he's never told me in so many words, but I know he doesn't like him. And his brother's under some kind of curse, but I know that Papa might even be able to help, if he knows how much it means to me. But every time I bring it up to Ed, we get into a fight. I tried to ask him if he could meet Papa and we could tell him about us, but Ed won't hear it. And so, I'm stuck sneaking around until I can convince him to let me tell Papa about him, or until I find the bravery to tell Papa anyhow. I don't like lying and I don't like sneaking, Belle, I really don't. But, I kind of feel as though it's the only way things can be."

"That's…a lot."

Lucy's ears grew red. "I suppose I've been wanting to talk about it for a while."

"Why do you keep it so secret?" Belle asked, sitting beside the girl. "What do you think your papa will do?"

"What did your papa do when you got engaged?"

Belle had to sigh for this one. To be entirely honest, she hadn't given Gaston a single passing thought since she entered the castle. Thoughts of her father passed somewhat frequently, as did thoughts of her village and her freedom; but never of her fiancé. But, the real question was, how to phrase it to this love-struck girl.

"He wanted it." She paused. "He arranged it. I…well, I suppose there's no harm in saying it now, I never cared much for Gaston anyhow. He's too superficial. There's nothing…nothing under the skin with him. No, I could never find love with someone like him. I never have."

None of this served to help Lucy, but she did not say a word of it. Instead, she raised her brow. "And do you hate us that you never will?"

"Oh, no." Belle shook her head and took Lucy's hand. "I can only know two more people in this world, and I'm thankful one of them is you."

Lucy smiled, and then she said, "You should try to get to know Papa too. Once you get passed the front, he really can be a brick."

"Then why are you so afraid of letting him know what you're doing?" Belle asked tenderly.

Lucy sighed. "Well, there's the fear that everyone else has of him. And that I'm afraid he'll forbid it."

"The way you talk about him sometimes makes it seem as though he's the best father imaginable."

"He can be." Lucy paused, and then added in, "On a good day."

Belle could, perhaps, begin to understand where the younger girl was coming from with this. The problem of Rumpelstiltskin was that he was so inconsistent. Once she had seen him witness his daughter's sneaking out, but he said and did nothing about it, and yet maintained strict rules that she never leave the castle. And, he always had a dark, almost mad, air about him, even if it was meant in jest.

Even after Belle had learned to detect his queer sense of humour, sometimes it still seemed on the cusp of madness. But, even then, he did little else to give her the impression that he was. In fact, even the opposite. He was often in-and-out of the castle, but he made sure to spend a little time with his daughter every day, and otherwise just sat at his spinning wheel. Watching it over and over again. He seemed overly intrigued by it. Surely he had done it enough so that the process of straw into gold was no longer so strange. Perhaps she would ask about it. In fact, she made a plan to.

The opportunity presented itself a few days later. The darkness had begun to make Belle feel rather gloomy, and unlike Lucy, she couldn't simply stay in the brightly lit corners of the castle. So, between tea and supper, she had decided to try to open the curtains. Rumpelstiltskin was sitting at his wheel, spinning. She tried to busy herself with the heavy drapery, to only focus on her project, much like Rumpelstiltskin was focusing on his. But, still, her curiosity won her over.

Tentatively, Belle shifted herself on her ladder, and called across the big hall. "Why do you spin so much?"

Rumpelstiltskin paused. And, slowly began to turn towards her. He seemed to regret it a moment later, and began to turn away again.

Worried that she might have offended him, Belle scrambled to cover for herself. "Sorry, it's just…you've spun straw into more gold than you could ever spend."

"I like to watch the wheel," Rumpelstiltskin said pensively. "Helps me forget."

"Forget what?"

Rumpelstiltskin softly turned the wheel over once more, and ticked his head slightly.

"I guess it worked," He said dryly, followed by that impish giggle.

Caught in the lighthearted moment, Belle couldn't help but laugh along with him.

Now, although Belle might have found his giggles odd, or even frightening at the beginning, she had grown rather fond of the sound. It almost showed a slight humanity in him, even if the found was unlike anything that could be found in a human—Rumpelstiltskin was often like this. He was so odd and bizarre, but in these oddities there would reside normal, comforting things. He was, frankly, unlike anyone Belle had ever met.

She turned back to the curtains, and began to tug, hearing Rumpelstiltskin's heeled boots as they hit the floor, coming towards her.

"What _are_ you doing?" He asked.

"Opening these! It's almost spring, we should let some light in."

She tugged again and again, but the bloody curtain was stuck. It was almost slippery with dust, and heavy. They wouldn't budge. She tried again. They would not move from their stationary positions next to the wall.

Turning to Rumpelstiltskin with a raised brow, she asked, "What did you do? Nail them down?"

"Yes."

Unbelievable. Even so, she found another laugh escape her lips, and she resumed the seemingly futile task of trying to pull open the drapes.

Then, without warning, the drapes tore away from the wall, with Belle tumbling after. She landed without a thud, feeling a slight give when she reached the ground, and a spindly hand on the back of her knees.

Blinking, she looked up to see Rumpelstiltskin blinking around, looking at the light. He looked rather different in the light. She couldn't say what it was, but something was different.

And then, he looked straight at her.

Something was there, in his eyes. Somehow, Belle found herself stammering and stuttering while she found the words. She knew she ought to say something—anything—but all words were lost.

Eventually, however, she managed to say, "Th—thank you."

He looked at her for perhaps a beat or two more, and then, without prelude he dropped her onto her feet again. Not to say that either were particularly stable. Belle tripped over her ankles for a moment, and Rumpelstiltskin seemed truly concerned about her equilibrium as she tottered.

Then, Belle repeated herself. "Thank you."

They both shifted and pulled at their clothes, completely and utterly lost of a way to proceed.

"No matter," Rumpelstiltskin shook off, and began to walk the other way.

With a promise to put the curtain back to their original place, Belle began to wonder exactly what was wrong; had she hit her head on the drapery? How else she could have gotten so lightheaded.

"There's no need," Rumpelstiltskin replied. "I'll get used to it."

With this, he walked away slowly.

And, in spite of herself, Belle watched him go.

XxxxxxxX

"Maugrim!" Susan shouted at her brother, who pawed impatiently in the doorway, covered in mud. "What were you doing?"

"I'd think that's entirely obvious." Maugrim muttered dryly.

Susan blinked and rolled her eyes. "Well, I can't let you back into the house dripping mud everywhere. Dad's passed out on the floor again, I'd rather him not wake up covered in vomit _and _mud."

"Oh, so _that's_ what that smell was." Maugrim nodded passively. "I thought it was Ed."

From inside, Edmund's voice rang. "I heard that!"

"That was the point, oh brother mine!" Maugrim pushed his way passed Susan, staining her skirts with brown, and jumping over their unconscious father over to the softest patch of floor they had.

Ignoring Susan's disgusted sigh, Edmund laid down flat on the sofa. "Shut up."

Maugrim's eyes drew upwards. "Oh, good one. Did you come up with that all by yourself?"

"He's been busy." Susan covered for her youngest brother. "He did most of Dad's work in the garden today and helped him up from the ditch near the pub."

"Do I not look exhausted?" Maugrim asked, shaking the mud off his fur, letting the dirty water splash all throughout the house. "You two have no idea how much it hurts to have a kink in your tail."

Susan assumed a rather overt motherlike position, with her hands secure on her waist. "Just go have a bath, Maugrim. All right?"

Maugrim snorted, but reluctantly stood up and padded out the door, leaving a trail of prints behind him.

No sooner had he left, than Susan noticed something sparkling on the rug. "I say, what's that?"

Edmund sat up, wrinkling his brow. "No idea. Maybe Maugrim knows. I'll take it to him."

With this, he stood and went to the rug to grab the chain. No sooner had his fingers touched the metal than he felt something strange. It was some sort of energy flowing through it. There was only one thing it could possibly be, and with this realisation, Edmund felt as though his stomach dropped to the floor. It was magic.


	10. Chapter Ten

"Rose," Gold said, finishing up his dinner. "I don't want you to go back to Ms. Blanchard's tomorrow."

Rose's eyes show up from her plate. "What? Why?"

"I don't think it's helping you."

"I've gone one day!" Rose reasoned, a bit more frantic than she otherwise should have. "Let me go a week, at least. Then you can take me to Dr. Hopper and get me analysed."

Gold lowered his eyebrows. "Why are you so set on going back? Fifth graders can't be that interesting."

Rose flushed and looked down at her plate, "I just want to see more of Storybrooke, is all."

She was lying, and Gold knew it. However, this was one thing he would _not_ allow to repeat.

Perhaps if Gold wasn't so adamant about having his way on this, he might have taken a closer look at his daughter's face. She was still reacting to things, even after he had stopped speaking. As though she was still hearing him raving, and ranting.

"You're not going, Roslyn." He finally said, and would have returned to eating, if Rose hadn't jumped up.

"_I'm _not going?" Rose said, her eyes burning in a way that did not match the situation. The same way they had burned a long time ago. "What about you? You leave every day. _I'm _stuck behind. You're worried about me leaving, when it's your fault we're alone anyway. You're keeping me here because you're afraid of me getting away."

Then, in a moment, Gold's heart nearly stopped beating, as Rose continued to rave. She shot up at the table.

"_But I'm not my brother!" _

The moment this escaped her lips, her eyes returned to normal. Her brows furrowed and she bit her lip.

Gold just stared at her. "I'll get the car."

Rose nodded and went to get her coat. She filed noiselessly into the vehicle, as Gold turned on the ignition, pausing to page Dr. Hopper and they sped down the road into Storybrooke.

The girl just slouched in the front seat, staring out at the evening sky. She remained noiseless for a minute or two, and then she turned back to her father.

"Dad," she asked tentatively at last. "I don't _have_ a brother, do I?"

"No," Gold muttered. "You don't."

She sighed, letting a tear roll down her cheek. "They're getting worse. Dad…I don't want to go back."

"Go _where_?" Gold asked, running a red light.

She chewed on the side of her cheek. "I'm not sure. To…the cell, I guess."

Rose hadn't ever been in a cell. But Lucy had. Why was the curse less on her? He thought he had accounted for mad people when he created it.

Apparently not.

XxxxxX

Dr. Hopper was waiting for them when they arrived at his office. Truthfully, he had just been on his way out when Gold paged him. But when Roslyn had an episode, it was fairly important to get her in straightaway, and he would work around alternate appointments, unless that appointment happened to be with Henry Miller, but that could scarcely be helped.

The strange thing about Roslyn, however, was that she never displayed enough symptoms to diagnose her with any single disorder. Hallucinations were the only display of schizophrenia. She was too planted in reality for psychosis or dementia. Her moods were too stable for such a severe variant of bipolar to suffice. And simple insanity? Well, Gold might just feel like swinging his cane again if _that _was the final diagnosis.

Roslyn came into Dr. Hopper's office just behind her father, who limped in with an impressively quick gait.

"All right, Roslyn," Dr. Hopper said, trying to hide fatigue from his voice. "Step right in."

Roslyn nodded and walked stiffly to the cushioned chair she often occupied during sessions as Dr. Hopper shut the door, leaving the wealthiest and most powerful man in Storybrooke shut out.

"Okay, Roslyn. What happened?"

She nodded and stared up at the ceiling, trying to remember. "We were fighting – well, arguing…Dad and I, and I just jumped up and screamed that I wasn't my brother."

Dr. Hopper frowned. "You have a brother?"

Looking into Roslyn's file, Dr. Hopper scribbled down a single word into it, perhaps one that could help her diagnosis. _Delusions? _

However, Roslyn shook her head. "No. That's the thing. I know I don't. I just…blurted it out. I…" she blushed nervously. "I don't even know where it came from. It just felt like the right thing to say."

Dr. Hopper found himself frowning yet again. "Did you have a face attached to the word 'brother' when you said it?"

Roslyn furrowed her brows. After a moment of thought, she shook her head. "No. I didn't see a face with it."

Chewing on the side of his pen, Dr. Hopper asked, "What was the fight about?"

"Well, he wanted me to stop going to Ms. Blanchard's to help out—oh, I need to tell you about that, don't I?"

Honestly, she did not need to. Dr. Hopper had all the reports from Faunus, the more medical mental health expert in Storybrooke, concerning Roslyn's mental state. However, the crux of the matter was that Roslyn was unaware of this. For some reason, Gold had made it so that Roslyn was not entirely aware of her state of mind, and simply thought Faunus was a tutor, rather than the man who made certain her random hallucinations stayed in check.

After Roslyn explained her reasons for helping with Ms. Blanchard, she continued with her story, "And then he just started yelling about how it's never worth leaving—how, somehow, the person you care for will forget or replace you, and then I just yelled back."

"And what do you think your father meant by it never being worth leaving?"

Roslyn shrugged. "I haven't the foggiest. I just get so confused, sometimes. It's like I'm missing parts of my life. Father will say things, and sometimes even Mr. Faunus will, and it won't make any sense. As if I've blacked out for an entire conversation."

Dr. Hopper paused, scribbling on his notes. "How often do you black out?"

Gnawing on her lip, Roslyn looked into her lap. "I can't say. Maybe at least once a day?"

"Do you ever hear voices, Roslyn? Voices not attached to anybody's face?"

She shot up in her seat in an instant. "I'm not crazy."

"I didn't say that, did I?" Dr. Hopper said evenly. "Hearing voices doesn't automatically mean that. But, I do need to know."

"You won't tell Papa?" She appeared to be holding her breath, and in an instant her whole voice might have changed.

No sooner had Dr. Hopper shaken his head, than she began to speak again.

"Only two. A woman – and it's like something out of a nightmare, and I try to ignore it as much as I can, but sometimes when I'm alone in the woods, all I can do is try to outrun it and make myself as warm as possible. It's like ice."

"And the other?"

This seemed to puzzle her more.

"I—I don't like it. But, it doesn't frighten me as much. It almost—it makes me sad and angry at the same time, though I don't know why. It's a dark, grisly kind of voice." She paused. "Almost like a wolf."

**A/N: Yup. I leave you guys on a limb for over a month and all I give you as a 1200 word chapter. _Sorry. _Junior year is definitely a she-dog. But, I've got next chapter in the works and everything else mapped out. Please don' t give up on me and please _do _leave a review, it'll keep me on track. (Lately, when I've gotten around to writing, I've been focusing on future stories rather than my current project...bad author! Bad, bad author!) **


	11. Chapter Eleven

Rumpelstiltskin stood at the window, watching Lucy run off, looking over her shoulder; trying to detect if she was being watched. Of course, she never bothered to look up to the windows on higher floors. She was getting cocky, Rumplestiltskin noted, thinking that she could leave unnoticed.

From behind him, Belle made a noise. She had previously been dusting bookshelves, but now came up closer. After a beat or two, she asked him, "Why do you let her break the rules? I don't even think she knows that you know."

"She doesn't." With this, Rumpelstiltskin let out a giggle. When Belle simply looked confused, he elaborated. "But no rules were broken. She found the loophole. She can't go outside—she's heading somewhere, but outside isn't it."

"Does it really work like that?"

Rumpelstiltskin ticked his head to the side. "Not really."

Belle shook her head, resolving to not understand yet. Maybe after a while. For some reason, she yearned do understand him. Still, he was incredibly inconsistent.

"I'm back to my spinning." Rumpelstiltskin said, turning away from the window. He paused. "If you want, you can be done for today. Do something…"

Belle watched his expression. Strange as it seemed, it looked as though he was almost at a loss for words—this was a phenomena that she thought she'd never see in the rest of her life here at the castle. "Fun?"

Rumpelstiltskin nodded. "Whatever it is princesses do for that."

Settling into the windowsill, Belle fixed her skirt over her feet. "I'm a bit out of the norm for this, but I used to make things. I'd read about all these strange and wonderful inventions and all these adventures people went on with them. But that was when I was younger—now I've just taken to reading."

"Then allow me to show you to the library." Rumpelstiltskin said, leading her out of the room.

Belle paused before she followed him. She was quite sure that he knew she had been to the library multiple times, but he still seemed to want to escort her there. It was charming, in a way. It was so queer; he was so different from the rumours people spread about the infamous Dark One. She chose to believe her eyes—after all, this was the man (or at least something very like a man) that she saw every day.

XxxxxxxX The fact that there was a magic item in his house at all was enough to make Edmund's skin crawl. But, the fact that the same aforementioned magical item was where his brother had just been, it was enough to drive him to madness. Call it what you will, foreboding, or just simply the fact that his parents had blamed Rumpelstiltskin and his magic for every misfortune that ever befell them, the whole idea seemed dodgy to him. When he was much younger, it might have seemed nice; say a few silly words, wave a little stick, or drink a potion and then—_poof! _All of his problems could be a distant memory. He could eat all the sweets he wanted; Susan wouldn't be so anxious; Mum would actually come home more than once a week; Dad would stop drinking; he could do something that mattered. But then, everything changed when Maugrim came home with a tail.

Even though it all happened years ago, Edmund himself was only twelve, and Maugrim was fifteen, the memory remained vivid. Before he had become a wolf, Maugrim was the adventurer of the family. In fact, he was everything that a family could have asked for. Smart, handsome, brave, strong-willed, and (when their father could talk him into helping with the garden) a brilliant green thumb. If anything, Maugrim's biggest setback had been his attitude, something that their mother had insisted was simply a phase.

Mum had been pacing in their small excuse of a sitting room, worried about where her eldest son had gone off to, wringing her hands and muttering to herself. Dad had been dead-drunk for a while, and paid no mind, while Susan was nervously cleaning their hovel from top to bottom, as a way to distract herself. As for Edmund, he was waiting in the window, looking for a sign of his tall brother. He was, therefore, the first person to notice the wolf coming up the cobbles.

He had said nothing, but craned to get a better look. Then, as the wolf got closer, he noticed something queer about the wolf's gait; it was tripping and going sideways, as though he was unused to walking on all fours. Edmund simply watched closer, as the wolf meandered towards the door.

Within a few seconds, there came a soft scratching at the door. Edmund remained seated stiffly. The wolf was trying to get in, that much was obvious. There was something different about the wolf, and Edmund had a feeling that it wasn't because of rabies.

The entire family stopped what they were doing.

"Scratching," Susan muttered. "What on earth?"

Mum let out a nervous breath. "What if it's Maugrim? And he's hurt."

"Don't you think he'd yell?" Susan asked.

"What if he can't?"

Edmund didn't know why, but he remained silent.

"I'll check."

Susan walked over to the door, and opened the peephole. Immediately after doing this, she shot backwards. "It's—it's—the biggest wolf I've ever seen!"

She was pale and shaking. Edmund hadn't realised before then that his sister was genuinely afraid of wolves. Mum ran across the room, and grabbed a crossbow, pointing it to the door. Susan pulled Edmund off the window and took him to the back of the house.

The scratching persisted for another minute or so, and then, from under the door, there came a low growling. Almost irritated in nature, it rumbled and reverberated through the walls.

Then, in the next moment, something extraordinary happened. The door came off its hinges and rested on the floor. Standing upon it, was the wolf. He seemed so much larger inside their small room than he had from the other side of the window. But, at the same time, it seemed more pathetic and completely out of place.

Mum pulled the trigger on the crossbow, and the arrow whizzed through the air. Thankfully, unlike her daughter, she had awful aim and the arrow was only embedded in the wolf's leg.

However, the great beast fell to the ground.

Then, to all of their surprise, he spoke. His voice was grizzly, but otherwise very familiar.

"Oh, _shit_. Mum, what the hell was that for?!" The wolf groaned, sending yellow eyes accusingly to his mother.

Mum blinked, and stepped back again, and Susan stared at the wolf. Edmund slowly, tentatively took a step towards the beast—even though his sister tried to pull him back. The wolf truly was big, and he has such sharp teeth. He imagined that the creature could gobble him up in a second. But, somehow, he didn't think that would happen.

"Maugrim?" He asked, his voice cracking.

The wolf laughed. "In the flesh…well, in the fur."

Mum stepped forward slightly. "Really? Maugrim…oh, what happened?"

Maugrim glowered. "D'you think we could get this bloody arrow out of me before you give me the third degree?"

The strange thing was, however, that even after the arrow was removed and bandaged, Maugrim somehow avoided explaining how he was turned into a wolf, other than the obvious: he was cursed. But, to that day, no one in the family ever knew the specifics. And frankly, Edmund realised, that was rather dodgy in itself, wasn't it? Or maybe he was just being paranoid.

XxxxxxxX

It was mid-evening, Rumpelstiltskin noted from the clanging of the clock in the hall. Damn that infernal contraption—it was always clanging off every sixty minutes. It could really distract a fellow; distraction is just the sort of thing that a fellow cannot have while working on a curse.

It was a timeless idea; a legendary concept. If it would work, he would be able to travel between his own magical and non-magical world without a hitch. He could go, look for Bae and return by teatime—if this curse could work, it would not disrupt Lucy nor Belle. Not only that, but he would not be dependant on other people. (It was always so irritating when people didn't do what you wanted them to.)

But, alas, the curse itself was precise. Just the right amount of electricity, just a pinch of fear (the thing that allows people to move quickly), magic from the earth. Not to mention no curse is complete without one hell of a seal. But, for now, he was just scratching the surface of this brilliant idea.

Magical rings. It was something unorthodox, definitely. Something people only used if they had no _real_ magic. But, if he could get Bae back, it would be well worth the dig to his pride.

Of course, he'd have to have something in the bloody rings from each world to transfer him from one place to another. It could be anything—sand, dirt, dust, a hair from a person in that world. But, alas, that was a dilemma he would have to solve later.

Then again, he really didn't have all that much time for solving. With this sort of spell, the stars had to be bloody aligned – and after a meteor shower, no less. He studied astronomy enough to realise that one would be coming sooner than he wanted. Everything had to be prepared before that moment. That was when the magic of the rings would take begin—if he attempted to transfer to a new world before that moment, he could be ripped apart or stuck in some hellish In-Between land forever. He hated to admit that it might very well be what he deserved—but he wouldn't accept that fate so easily. He had to apologise and set things right with Baelfire. He had to make sure Lucy stayed out of trouble. And, even if he didn't care to admit it, he didn't want to imagine the day that he would not see Belle dusting or sweeping something up. He had things to live for.

Picking up a small basin on the mahogany table, Rumpelstiltskin took a vial filled with a clear liquid and dumped it into it. Then he mixed in a powder, and sprinkled just a pinch of sand into it. He giggled slightly: this was where things got good. The contents of the basin began to glow bright yellowand began to subtly hum.

Flicking his pointer finger, Rumpelstiltskin used his magic to open a drawer in the cabinet. Buried deep inside the cabinet sat a little box. It was large enough to have to hold it with two hands, but very light, despite the fact it was made of dark mahogany. Of course, Rumpelstiltskin thought, the ease of his handling it might very well be because he was so strong and brilliant—you could never discount that. Either way, the box was shiny and smooth, it had some kind of engraving along the side in a language that has been long since dead. But, if course, it wasn't what was on the outside that mattered. All that was key was beneath the lid.

Waving his hand over the lid, the box came sliding open. There, inside the velvet-lined box, sat two brass rings. They were nothing extraordinary—and both were bent and fairly tarnished, but one could never tell from Rumpelstiltskin's reaction, as he picked one up and held it to the light.

This was it—the first test. Enchant one ring and surely you can enchant another, and then he would only have to wait for the damn stars. Then, all other spells would have been a waste of time—for he would find his son again.

Giggling again, Rumpelstiltskin dropped one of the brass rings into the basin. The liquid began to bubble and smoke furiously. There was a great rumbling from the basin, as though it was thunder, and then all was calm. With this, Rumpelstiltskin grabbed a pair of tongs and lifted out the glowing ring.

XXXXXXX

Lucy sat on a log, hidden underneath the overflowing branches of a willow tree. She held a large leather-bound book on her knees, eyes pouring over the intricate calligraphy dance over delicate pages.

The story was one she had read, maybe, ten times, but still as vigorously as if it was the first time. She had only just gotten to the first of many epic battles, the one where the hero was about to be horribly wounded, when she heard a twig snap. Looking up, she shrunk in closer to the tree trunk. She and Edmund had made plans to meet under that willow tree, but she always tried to veer on the side of caution.

"What do you think I'm gonna do?" A deep, gravelly voice sounded from on the other side of the willows, "Eat you?"

Lucy sighed from relief. "I just wasn't sure."

Maugrim came into the shade, and laid down lazily. "I suppose living with the devil makes you paranoid, eh?"

"He's not the devil." Lucy said, pressing her lips close together. She was used to people saying bad things about Rumpelstiltskin, but for some reason, Maugrim seemed to take it too far. At least Edmund knew when to stop. There was a difference between fear with dislike and blatant disrespect with hatred.

"And you're the devil's daughter." Maugrim rolled over.

Lucy sighed again. "So…everything all right?"

"Dad's pissed as anything, Mum hasn't come home for the passed few days, Susan's a nervous wreck. So, yeah. Things are pretty normal for us."

"And Ed?"

"Why do you never want to know about _me_?"

"All right, Maugrim," Lucy said, "How are you?"

"I've got fleas. It's murder."

"I'm sorry."

"No you're not." Maugrim rolled over in the grass. "But that's fine. I just wanted to figure out what you and Ed are planning."

"Sorry?"

"He's been acting more secretive than usual. It has to have something to do with you."

Lucy shrugged. "I haven't the foggiest idea. Honest. Maybe you can ask him."

"Whatever it is, it has to do with you."

Pausing, Lucy looked down at the large wolf, "Why do you always assume it's me?"

"Because I don't trust you."

Lucy simply raised her eyebrows.

Maugrim continued. "And I have the feeling that's mutual."


End file.
